Home 2: Visit
by Acid-Rush
Summary: COMPLETE Sequel to 'Home'. Kurtis' retelling of the events taking place after Angel Of Darkness as he returns with Lara to Croft Manor to recover.
1. Default Chapter

**Hi guys, I'm back. Sorry this has taken me soooo long to put up, but I'm home from university so no longer have a permanent high speed internet connection, I've been busy job hunting now I've graduated, and this story is turning out to be really hard to write! Tricky little character, is our Kurtis.  
This story is part 2 in a trilogy that began with 'Home', and starts a little earlier than that installment, instead beginning just after the end of the Angel Of Darkness game.****  
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"Kurtis? Kurtis? Kurtis, it'll be ok, I'll get help. Kurtis!"   
The consistent shouts of Ms. Croft and her bothersome touches as she slapped my face and inspected my wound, shifting around noisily as though torn between leaving for help there and then and staying to see whether it was actually worth getting help, poked and prodded their way into my fast fading consciousness. I groaned, my eyes wearily tearing themselves open, wanting nothing more than for Lara to go away and leave me alone. I was just about to die, given over to the fact and too weak to do anything other than welcome oblivion, and she had to interrupt it. Damn her, she was nothing but trouble.   
"Kurtis!" Again she tried to attract my attention, and I swatted my arm tiredly towards her, trying to bat her away and make her leave me alone. "Hold on, Kurtis! It's going to be alright. You're going to be alright!" She just didn't quit, did she? I was far gone, too far gone to be bothered with coming back again, so much so that when she probed and examined my wound with her hands I couldn't even feel pain. Her incessant torment eventually dragged me back to this side of the living and I suddenly realised who I was, what was going on, and how much was at stake. My life.   
"Lara?" I breathed her name, the first time I'd spoken it, and the sound fell easily off my lethargic lips. I reached out and touched her face, reassuring myself that I had indeed been brought back from the brink rather than tumbling over it and falling sleepily.   
"Yes, Kurtis, it's me. Listen to me, you're going to be ok. Hold on, Kurtis, just hold on." She reached and gently took my hand from her cheek, squeezing it reassuringly and laying it to my side. Eyes darting around, her braid flicking madly in the wind and snow outside the Strahov as she snapped her head left and right, her vision locked onto something and she ran off, leaving me. "Lara," I croaked, not wanting to be left, as if her very presence would keep me alive.   
Without her constant stimulation, I wasn't sure I was wrong, and I again began to fall backwards into blissful unconsciousness, nursed by the cold. Just as my head lolled to the side and my eyes eased shut, she again grabbed me and pulled me back from the edge. "Kurtis!" she cried as she fell to her knees at my side and took my head in her hands, slapping me lightly to regain my attention. "Kurtis, I've called an ambulance, they're on their way. Hold on, Kurtis, just hold on."  
Her words could no longer keep their hold on me, and though I tried to stay awake, my eyes began to close again, and my breathing slowed. I was jolted back to lucidity by the feel of cold metal being pressed into my hands, vibrating slightly at my touch. My fingers closed around a familiar shape and I managed to tilt my head enough to look at my oldest weapon. "Kurtis! What is it? Tell me what it is, Kurtis. Tell me how it works."   
I knew exactly what she was up to, but was too tired to even show a slight knowing smile, but, thankfully, was still alive enough to feel grateful for her attempt to keep me conscious by giving me something to concentrate on.   
"Chirugai," I breathed, too weak to speak above a whisper or form whole sentences. "Lux Veritatis weapon. Mine. Control with mind." I was slipping again, and she knew it.   
There was desperation in her voice as she commanded, "Show me." I couldn't. There was no way I could gather the strength to call it to life, but again she ordered me, and I knew I had to try before my mind shut down altogether.   
"Try," I croaked, and I shut my eyes, trying to muster the life force within me into one coherent beam that flowed from my body and controlled the chirugai like an invisible arm. Such a trivial task evaded me, and I slumped back against the wall, spent already. The sound of approaching emergency vehicle sirens, presumably my ambulance, sapped what little resolve I had left, and I gave up, passing all responsibility for my continued existence into the hands of the coming paramedics, too tired to fight my own battle any more.  
  
"Good morning, Mr Trent. Or is it Mr Caldwell? Or maybe it's Monsieur Dupuis." Lara Croft – if that was her name – waved a handful of ID cards and passports at me. "Anderson, perhaps?"   
The universe was against me. At some point in time, I had done something to provoke the universe into sending the good Lady Croft to stop me from sleeping. Here I am, in a Prague hospital, recovering from major surgery after a near fatal stabbing, trying to sleep, and what happens? I get woken up by her coming in here and quizzing me about my identity. And the time before that? Well, let me think – yes, that's right, she was the tormentor in my final moments.   
I felt a small twinge of guilt at that dismissive thought directed at the woman who had saved my life, but it was quickly quashed when I reminded myself that I was tired, in pain, exhausted after days of running and fighting, and deserved to feel sorry for myself.   
"It's Trent," I sighed, "I wasn't lying when I introduced myself as Kurtis."   
"And the others?" she enquired in a cut glass accent that I hadn't really noticed before. I was probably too busy worrying about the power cut and it wasn't like I hadn't met foreigners before.   
"I'm sure you can appreciate the need to lie low sometimes," I replied.   
"Yes," she said, "but I've never gone under an assumed name before." She shuffled my cards and papers into order and replaced them in my wallet, laying it on the bedside table and offering me a glass of water that sat there. I accepted the straw into my mouth and took a sip, but she snatched it away before I could drink much, observing that unexplained medical law that said that ill people weren't allowed to drink too much. "How are you feeling?" she asked, settling back into her chair and folding her hands in her lap demurely.   
"Like hell," I answered, with a hint of humour. "Thanks for saving me back there. That's two I owe you."   
"Don't mention it," she said. Regarding me for a second, she then said, "Eckhardt's dead. Karel too."   
I nodded my thanks, casting my eyes downward as a somewhat numb feeling washed over me. Eckhardt was dead and I felt nothing. The momentous event had passed me by. Before I could muse any more, Lara spoke again. "The doctor said he spoke to you? About your condition?"   
"Yeah," I croaked, and then coughed, gratefully accepting another sip of water against my parched throat from my responsive companion. "They spoke to me last night, when I came round from the surgery, said you'd probably be by today."   
"Can't abandon my partner in his hour of need," she said, and I couldn't tell whether she was joking or not. She gave a coy smile and shifted in her seat. "Thankyou for your help."   
"Thanks for yours," I said, though I wasn't quite sure that I meant it. She'd killed my nemesis. I asked her to kill my nemesis. I chewed my lip and scowled in self torment and she frowned, leaning forward and placing one hand on the side of the bed.   
"Are you ok? Not in pain?"   
"No." I smiled to show I was fine and forced myself to relax again.   
"Anyway," she said, returning to the original subject, "you'll be out of here in about a week. You were very lucky not to be paralysed."   
"Yeah." I nodded in agreement, but didn't even pretend to feel grateful or scared that I had had such a near miss. I'd been hurt enough over the years to stop dwelling on my state of health a long time ago, and from the looks of her, she of all people would understand that.   
"Well," Lara said, standing, "the front desk has my contact details if you need me. I'll let you get some rest now. I'll come by again. Goodbye."   
Just as she reached the door, I decided to ask her what I'd been wondering for a while. "What was all your business in this, exactly?"   
"Karel killed my old mentor and I was blamed for the murder. I just got dragged in, and then I found out what was at stake. I had to clear my name and save the world," she said matter of fact-ly, and then left before I could ask her to elaborate.   
Too tired to dwell on her story and what I'd already found out about her when she'd first become involved, I settled back down into the pillows to get some more sleep.  
  
The next afternoon, I lay in bed, remembering my father and feeling my hatred towards Eckhardt. I breathed heavily with rage as tears pricked my eyes, and my fists involuntarily clenched at the sight of my dead father in my mind's eye. There was a knock at the door and I quickly composed myself, breathing deeply to calm myself and forcing my palms to flatten themselves against the sheets. The door opened and Lara poked her head around with a smile, seeking permission to enter.   
She trotted in lightly when I returned her grin and waved her into the room, and sat again in the chair by the bed. I sat up and plumped the pillows behind me and set my eyes on her. "How are you?" I asked, and she nodded, replying that she was fine, before returning the question. "Not too bad," I answered. "Ready to hear more of your story though."   
She must have been expecting it, because she caught my meaning straight away and prepared herself to answer. "What do you know? I get the feeling you'd been keeping an eye on me before we were introduced."   
"I had heard someone was poking around, yeah," I admitted. "All I know is that you'd been talking to Von Croy on the phone, then you were seen leaving his murder scene and started going after the fourth painting." I shrugged. "From what I saw you were pretty quick on your feet, so I decided you'd be a better candidate to get the painting than me."   
"So you decided to just lie in wait and steal it from me?" Her voice showed not a hint of accusation, and, if anything, humour. Always with a weakness for the ladies, I couldn't resist just a little flirting.   
"Well, can't say I was put off by the idea of frisking you for it." I gave a cocky, crooked smile, one that usually had women falling at my feet, and was disappointed to find that it had zero effect. 'Not quite so icy when you weren't expecting to run into me, were you Ms Croft?' I thought to myself with an inward self-satisfied smirk as I remembered the wonderfully overwhelming effect I'd had on her in the Louvre.   
Without missing a beat, she took up her story to fill in my gaps. "Von Croy was my mentor and teacher. We weren't on the best of terms, and it took a lot of persuading for me to even come and see him, but when I finally did he told me he needed my help to find a painting, and that his life was being threatened. He was murdered whilst I was sat in his living room. I was seen leaving the crime, the police took chase, I ran to Madame Carvier, Von Croy's contact at the Louvre, not knowing where else to go or what to do, and she gave me Werner's notebook. Reading that, I realised that the police wouldn't be able to track down the real killers if they were as mixed up in this occult business as it seemed, and so, if I wanted to clear my name, I would have to find them. I got deeper and deeper in, realised how much was at stake, and decided that I had to see it through to the end."   
Her delivery was calm, factual, not betraying any feeling, but I guessed she was probably still reeling from the whole experience. "I get the impression this kinda thing is the norm for you." There was something going on with this girl, and I wanted to know what it was. I'd known from the beginning that clearly she wasn't just the every day archaeologist the media made her out to be.   
"My work can be hectic, yes," she answered, mysteriously.   
"Booby trapped temples and curses?" I probed.   
"Ah, so you know my work. Actually, it's more along the lines of stopping Atlanteans bent on world domination and imprisoning Egyptian gods of chaos."   
"Really? Not what the papers say."   
"The papers get the Sunday school version." Her dry humour made me laugh, and I clutched my stomach, pain shooting through the area.   
"Look," Lara said, standing once again, "I have to go to the police station, there are still some things to be sorted out with the Parisian police and the Prague forces still want to know just what went on in the Strahov. Funny, they don't seem to want to ask you anything."   
"Nah, they'll be wanting to see Monsieur Dupuis about that." We shared a knowing laugh, and she left, and I stayed in my outwardly calm state, my mind half on the rather impressive woman who'd just walked out the door.


	2. Visit 2

**Thanks again for all your brilliant feedback, both for this and for the final stages of 'Home'. I love having fans. ;-)  
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A week passed with daily visits from the renowned Lady Croft, and hours whiled away with the BBC World Broadcast in an effort to quell the torment inside me, before my doctor said that I was allowed to leave the hospital and go home, though only if there was sufficient treatment available for me there. That idea was quickly quashed when I pointed out that I no longer had a home and that my medical insurance hadn't been renewed, and therefore I couldn't afford any treatment even if the doctor was comfortable with me recovering in a trashy motel off a lonely interstate, which he wasn't.   
He must have mentioned it in passing to Lara because when she visited that day the first words that came out of her mouth were, "You're coming back to England with me."   
"Excuse me?" I flicked off the TV and settled back into my pillows, focusing my attention on what I was sure was going to be a very interesting explanation.   
"Your doctor doesn't want you cooped up in a hospital bed any longer, the country air will do you good, and according to the nurses you can claim treatment off your travel insurance in England, since you'll still be in a foreign country."   
"Country air? Just because I'm American doesn't mean that I think England is all farms and fields – I've been watching the BBC, y'know."   
"I happen to live in the country, thank you very much." Lara folded her arms in mock offence, and fixed me with a challenging stare. "You are coming to England. Besides, it's a far shorter flight, you won't survive in economy class all the way back to America."   
"What makes you think I travel economy?" It was my turn for the mock offence, but it was knocked back by Lara's playfully derogatory glance that clearly stated that she thought that economy was pushing the limits of my wallet.   
"I've booked the flight, we leave tomorrow afternoon. I'll be by at midday to pick you up, so be ready. Goodbye."   
She had barely taken a step when I asked, "Going already?"   
"I have some more red tape to sort out with the police, and I have to pack what little effects I have," she explained. "You're booked under the name of Kurtis Trent, so don't go changing your identity. Bye."   
She swept out of the room, and I watched her go, before taking in a shuddering breath and rubbing my hands over my face, tired, glad that I was leaving. There were too many memories in the city and far too little noise in the hospital room to drown them.  
  
I'd always hated the waiting that came after check in. Most of it over my years of travelling had actually been spent wondering why in hell the waiting had to be so long anyway – why did they need a bunch of people to let them know they were there so long before they were needed? I was musing this point – again – when the call for business class boarding came over the tannoy.   
"You know what I like about being rich?" Lara asked, as we started to file onto the plane with the other first class passengers.   
"The ease it brings to the dating scene?" I offered.   
Lara snorted. "First class travel."   
I was prevented from answering by a very concerned and very pretty British Airways stewardess as I boarded the plane. "Oh, we weren't told that we had anybody who might need help!" she exclaimed, placing her hands on my elbows where they were bent to accommodate my crutches and forsaking the passengers behind me to guide me to my seat. "You poor thing! What happened?"   
Lara raised an eyebrow as she sat in her own seat and I cocked one back at her before turning on the charm. "I got into a fight. The bad guy stabbed me." I winced for effect as I lowered myself into my seat, though I was genuinely in pain, and looked up at the stewardess through my eyelashes.   
"Oh, how awful!" she cried, taking my crutches off me. "Is it very bad? I'll just have to put these in the forward cabin for take-off."   
"Oh," I said, putting my hand to my stomach, "I'm ok, really." I grimaced and the hostess let out a small 'oh' in sympathy.   
"If there's anything you need, anything at all, just let me know." She took my crutches and returned to her duties.   
I turned to Lara and grinned. "I think she likes me."   
"I think she proves the oft-thought theory that air hostesses are air headed," Lara replied dryly, and I grinned to myself as I turned back to the front. She was jealous.   
About half an hour after take off, I was fighting to subdue the memories that had caught up with me again. I felt grief, anger, bitterness, regret and resentment over my father's death and the fact that I had allowed another to take my revenge, and the overwhelming feelings felt as if they were eating me inside. There was a continuous stabbing pain in my abdomen, not from my wound, and no amount of painkillers or rest would make it go away. I faced away from Lara, towards the aisle, and chewed my knuckles, my face set hard in an expression of pain.   
"Are you ok, Mr Trent?" I looked up towards the voice and found my air stewardess chewing her lip worriedly as she looked me over. "You don't look well. Can I get you anything?"   
"Actually, yeah, do you have any duty free?" I asked, knowing from past experience that the only thing that would help was alcohol.   
"Of course," she said, smiling when she realised that she could be of help, and she disappeared into the rear of the plane, only to reappear two minutes later with a cut glass of brandy. "Will this be ok?"   
"Yeah, thanks," I said hurriedly, dismissing her concern and reaching for my wallet.   
"Oh, no, this one's on me," the stewardess said, reaching forward to still my hand and holding the glass out to me with a wide and flirtatious smile. I took it and thanked her, winking, and she giggled and looked away shyly before hurrying off. I downed the brandy in one, basking in the burning in my throat that detracted from my thoughts and numbed the pain in my stomach.   
"Anyone might think that you were looking for oblivion in drink and women," said a superior voice beside me and I leant down to drop the glass onto the floor beside me before turning towards it and raising an eyebrow at its owner.   
"And anyone might think that you were jealous."   
"Oh please," dismissed Lara, turning her attention back to the in-flight movie she was watching.   
There was silence for a second as she pretended to be engrossed in the plot and totally unaware that I was staring at her, and then she gave up and spoke again, turning back to me. "Are you alright? Really? The way you drank that brandy..."   
"Lara, I'm fine," I lied, "It's just that I'm in pain and being cooped up first in a hospital and now on a plane is driving me nuts, that's all."   
"Oh," Lara said. There was silence again and then she said, seemingly uncomfortable with the way I was staring at her, "Maybe you should get some sleep."   
I smiled to myself, laughing inwardly at the effect I could have on her. "Actually, I was hoping you'd fill me in on what went on after you left me with Boaz." My voice was casual, but inside I was shaking at the thought of covering the subject of Eckhardt. I needed to know what had happened, how he had died, what he had said, but I was terrified that it would make things worse – that I'd really realise that Eckhardt was dead and gone and that I would never again have a chance to avenge my father's death.   
I got the impression that Lara had been expecting and dreading that request; she sighed and shifted uncomfortably in her seat, removing her headphones from the in-flight movie and regarding me for a moment. At last she made up her mind about where to start, and spoke.   
"I didn't kill Eckhardt."   
The full reality of the statement hit home with an unrivalled force, and I was paralysed for a second, just staring at her and gaping in shock. She looked upset, guilty, but her feelings barely registered against the magnitude of my own.   
"You said he was dead," I spat, and Lara flinched.   
"He is!" she quickly defended, "But I didn't kill him. I didn't tell you before now because I thought you'd be upset, I know how personal this was for you – "   
I cut her off. "Lara, you're not making sense – what happened? Tell me!" I got the impression that Lara was not usually a woman to be cowed, but whether it was my sheer rage or the draining ordeal she'd been through, or any mixture of the two, she shrank back into her seat and refused to meet my eyes.   
Her arms were folded protectively and when she spoke her voice was small and meek. "I was just about to stab him with the third shard when Karel wrestled it off me and killed him himself."   
She was clearly expecting an outburst of anger at the revelation that my mortal enemy had not been finished on my behalf, and was not looking forward to the prospect, but all I felt was a deflating, sagging disbelief. All the scenarios I'd imagined in hospital about how Eckhardt had died, begging, apologising, pleading at Lara's feet as she'd plunged the final shard into his heart – none were even close to the truth. I swallowed. "Eckhardt's sidekick?" I breathed, trying to take it all in and make sense of everything.   
Lara swallowed, herself, and then let out a shuddering breath, steeling herself for a painful explanation. "Karel was Nephilim, and had been using Eckhardt all along. Eckhardt had the powers necessary to reawaken the Sleeper, and as long as everyone thought he was the true leader, Karel had total anonymity, always a good thing."   
I absorbed this for a moment. "Wow," was all I could manage.   
Lara blinked, a little surprised that I hadn't just tried to strangle her, maybe. I directed my gaze towards her and gave her a small smile. "Not your fault, Lara."   
"You're alright?" she said.   
"Yeah. Yeah, I'll be ok." I considered asking for more duty-free, but thought it probably wasn't the best course of action after assuring Croft that I was fine. At least Eckhardt had been betrayed, and at least, no matter who'd done it, he was dead. They were the only consoling thoughts I could muster at that time, and I quickly cast my mind around for a distraction, something to stop me from thinking. Looking around for inspiration, my eyes fell on Lara, who was sat chewing her fingernail and looking troubled. "What's the matter?" I asked.   
"Oh, nothing," she said, shaking her head to dismiss my query. She was clearly dwelling on something, but I decided not to push it further. It looked like we both needed a distraction, and after all we'd been through together I thought that maybe we should get to know each other better.   
So, "Pearl Jam or Nirvana?"  
  
We left the baggage area, Lara pushing our luggage trolley ahead of us, still filling in each other's questions on our separate versions of events for the past few days. After we had dispelled the uneasy atmosphere with some casual conversation and a few video games on the airplane entertainment system, the topic had turned back to the Cabal, and I had had been pushed to relive my own story to mirror Lara's tale. We had considered Karel's exact motives, worried over whether or not he was dead, and related every minute detail to each other. I had worried that maybe it hadn't been Karel that had killed my father, but Lara had insisted that Eckhardt had said that it was he who had hunted down the Order, and I allowed her assurances to calm my nerves. I had enough emotional baggage to work through already.   
We had landed at Gatwick, the same airport that Lara had left from, and I followed her through the unfamiliar maze of the arrivals lounge to the exit to one of the parking lots, and from there to a Bentley.   
"Amazing," remarked Lara, "A Bentley in an airport car park for eighteen days and not a scratch on it."   
"No offense, but who's stupid enough to risk leaving a Bentley in an airport parking lot for eighteen days?" I asked, lowering my case into the open trunk.   
"I wasn't in much of a mood to care when I left," Lara said, and I was amazed that she had allowed herself to give that much. It had been clear to me when I had first laid eyes on her that she was in a very dark place, and that the events in Paris and Prague had cleansed her somewhat, but I didn't think she'd even give a clue to that around someone she barely knew. She seemed to be a very closed off personality, guarded and careful not to show too much. I didn't push the issue, and checked myself into heading to what was usually for me the driver's side of the vehicle, sliding awkwardly into the seat and letting out a low whistle as I took in the luxurious interior and leather seats, settling back into the ample cushion and running my hands along the understated arm rests. Lara gave a half-smile in thanks for the unspoken compliment and turned the keys in the ignition, roaring the engine into life and checking her mirrors as she eased the car out of its space.   
To begin with the journey was passed in silence as I allowed Lara to concentrate on the busy city traffic, and allowed myself to stare mindlessly out of the window, not thinking or feeling, only taking in the unfamiliar sights of London – everything from the different road markings to the different style cars to older buildings and unfamiliar business names. As we left the city limits and the town gradually gave way to country roads and greenery, I turned my head back to Lara and spoke.   
"Amazing, how even a field can look different in a foreign country."   
"Hmmm," agreed Lara, her attention still mostly on the road, "even a hotel room can constantly remind you you're not on your own shores anymore." There was silence for a few moments longer, and then Lara spoke again. "We'll be there in about half an hour. I live with my butler, Hillary, and my technical assistant, Bryce. I should imagine you'd get on with them. You'll have your own room and be allowed to do as you please, and I'll see about getting a physiotherapist to come out and visit you at the Manor."   
"Cool," I replied. I hadn't broached the subject of Lara's residence purely out of shyness, the fact that I didn't like having to depend on people or accept their charity, and that always left me a little uncomfortable when staying anywhere I wasn't paying for board.   
"So you live in a big mansion then? With horses and servants and stuff?"   
Lara gave that half smile again and, glancing at me slightly, said, "Hillary's my only household staff, I have two horses, and as aristocratic mansions go, Croft Manor is actually rather modest. It has eighty three rooms, though quite a lot of it has been converted to accommodate my training requirements."   
"Eighty three rooms? Really? Is that all?" I asked with humour, and Lara smirked.   
"My parent's house has a hundred and nineteen rooms."   
"Wow." I was quite looking forward to seeing this manor, and even feeling a little excited about getting to stay in such a huge and magnificent house, as I was sure it was.   
My suspicions were confirmed when Lara turned right down a gravel driveway and stopped at two huge wrought iron gates. Reaching out to a small security post on her side, she keyed in a number, and the gates swung open, welcoming the lady of the manor home. The car moved forward, rolling smartly down the drive, rounding a small fountain and pulling up outside a large oak door.   
I couldn't take my eyes off the place, and I continued to gape at the size and grandeur as Lara opened my door and helped me out, setting me back on my crutches and locking the door behind me. "We'll get the luggage later," she said quickly, spinning to face her home, a grin emerging on her face. She was obviously very happy to be home, and she strode forward confidently. I followed her as fast as I could, and I heard her yell, "Bryce! Hillary! I'm home!" as she flung the doors open and marched into the biggest entrance hall I had ever seen.   
A scruffy looking man, apparently in his mid thirties but dressed like a computing student, appeared at the top of the stairs to our left, grinning widely. Lara announced that she was home, and his expression darkened, and I thought for a second that it was me that he was staring at, but when he spoke, a strong London accent coming through, and asked if I was feeling better, I quickly realised that it was Lara that was having this effect on the man, and that he was obviously worried that she was still depressed or traumatised or whatever it was she had been.   
Lara's answer was to hold her arms in greeting and the man, whom I guessed to be Bryce, hurled himself into them. I stood awkwardly as they exchanged words, admissions of feelings, apologies and a short discussion about the butler flitting between them. I distracted myself by staring around at the huge hall, taking in the height and intricacy of the ceiling, the quality of the material and make of the staircase and landings, the beauty of the floor that shone through the scuff marks and dirt, that were easily explained when I heard Bryce mention that Hillary was away. I was suddenly aware that there was quiet again in the room, and I glanced up to find Bryce staring at me curiously.   
"Oh, Bryce, this is Kurtis Trent. Kurtis, this is Bryce. I met Kurtis in Paris, he was caught up in the same business as I. We worked together," Lara interjected.   
I smiled and held out my hand to Bryce, who leant forward to shake it. Lara motioned to Bryce for something, and Bryce, acknowledging, moved a hand to behind my back to guide me towards a room over the back left of the hall.


	3. Visit 3

**Here's another chapter, guys. Thanks for all the feedback! I'm replaying Angel of Darkness at the moment, which is fueling my fanfic writing urges somewhat.  
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Coming into the lounge, Bryce helped me to sit in one of the armchairs. I smiled my thanks as I fell back into it, unable to put the strain on my abdomen needed to lower myself into a sitting position.   
"You want a drink?" Bryce asked, raising his eyebrows in question. He wasn't obvious about it, but he was clearly looking me over to form an opinion about who I was, what I wanted and what I was doing there.   
"Yeah, thanks," I said, "Coffee'd be good."   
Nodding in acknowledgement, Bryce swept off into a room on the left, and I looked through the open doorway to see a huge and expensive looking kitchen. 'Wow', I thought to myself as I glanced around the lounge at the expensive but modern furniture that contrasted sharply but tastefully with the classic, old wood panelled walls. The chair I was sitting in was black, leather, and creaked satisfyingly as I shifted. There were sounds of china clinking and cupboards being opened and shut coming from the kitchen, but no speech. The silence was a little uncomfortable, but not unexpected. I was tense, on edge, not in a bad way but as was normal when in someone else's territory with people you were unfamiliar with. I noticed my breathing was shallow and scolded myself for being so silly – I was comfortable living in the underworld of society, which involved speaking to unsavoury characters you'd never met and would probably kill you if it made them a profit, following people and travelling the world alone and unguided in the areas no tourist book covered, but I felt shy staying at someone's house. Pathetic.   
Lara waltzed in, flashed me a smile and turned to Bryce as he re-entered with a tray of drinks.   
"Bryce, just what have you been getting up to?" she said. Bryce blinked at her, slightly taken aback. He placed my drink down in front of me, and I winced as I leaned forward to pick it up, whispering a quick thanks to please my sense of manners whilst not interrupting the interchange.   
"Hillary – he thought it was you calling – seemed rather annoyed," Lara clarified.   
"Ah, well, I may have had a few problems operating certain household appliances."   
"Bryce, did you flood the kitchen with the washing machine again?"   
I bit back a laugh at Lara's humorous accusation and looked at Bryce, waiting for his reaction.   
"Dishwasher."   
Classic! I laughed to myself, already starting to understand the relationship these two had. I began to relax, realising that under normal circumstances Lara obviously had a good sense of humour and that this was clearly a very relaxed and easy going household despite the imposing formality of the surroundings.   
"Some place you got here," I commented to Lara, holding her gaze.   
"Glad someone appreciates it." She directed the reply to Bryce, staring at him with a cocked eyebrow. He stared back blankly. "Your trailer," she continued, "I notice it's back."   
"Ah well, Hillary was driving me a bit...odd. Since, ages back. Didn't want to get it out of storage while you were still Dark Side on us, so I waited until you'd left. I still live in the house. My trailer just makes a nice Hillary-free zone, that's all. Doesn't smell of polish."   
Bryce's reply caught my attention and I glanced between the two of them. Lara seemed uncomfortable, but Bryce was oblivious to the fact that he had obviously hit a raw nerve. Hoping to force a little more information out of the conversation with regards to what had got Croft so intolerant in Europe, I probed, "Dark Side?"   
"Lara went evil on us," Bryce said, still refusing to recognise the delicacy of the atmosphere.   
"I had some things to work through," Lara said curtly.   
"In Paris and Prague?" I asked, not backing down. I suppose I had no right, but I was curious, and I couldn't help but feel that I had played some small part in her redemption or whatever it had been with Eckhardt. Lara balked, glaring, and then stood.   
"I'm hungry," she said, translating the statement with her body language into, 'End of conversation', "Does anyone fancy Chinese?"   
"Sure," said Bryce, leaping up and heading for the kitchen, and I decided to follow his example and let Lara have her way. I nodded my consent, silently apologising for going too far and watched her as she left the room, inwardly scolding myself for being insensitive.   
A few short minutes later Lara was on the phone placing our order with the local take out joint, and Bryce and I were sat back in the lounge, silent. At last, I found the courage to press the issue. "So what's the deal with Lara?" I asked.   
Bryce shook himself out of his thoughts and looked back at me. "Post traumatic stress disorder," he recited, "She was exploring in Egypt when she was buried under rubble when a pyramid wall collapsed. We searched for her for days, but eventually we were forced to give her up for dead. Three months later she turned up at the door in a right state. Traumatised, she was. None of us could get through to her. Then she disappeared off doing whatever it was when she met you, and now she's home and well, or so it seems." With the last few words he directed his gaze out to the hallway from where we could hear Lara's faint words floating through.   
I was about to speak, though to say what I don't know, when we heard the clunk of the phone being hung up, and Lara came back in, smiling her greeting and sitting back down.   
The rest of the evening passed uneventfully, the dinner conversation consisting of polite 'getting to know you' talk that carefully sidestepped all mention of Europe in hopes of not getting to close to the sore subject of Lara's mental state. Afterwards, Lara and I both tired from travelling, Lara showed me to my room and helped me settle in before retiring to her own bed. I lay awake for a while, sorting through everything that had happened – how Lara must have escaped her makeshift tomb, how our adventure against the Cabal could possibly have lifted her depression, and eventually back onto Eckhardt and my father. The wound was still fresh, but I couldn't help but add to my pain as I tortured myself over not being the one to exact my revenge. In the early hours, exhaustion rescued me from my torment as I fell into a deep and long sleep.  
  
The next morning I awoke from a fitful dream around six, waking early as I usually did in unfamiliar surroundings. After spending ten minutes trying to work out how the strange English shower in my en suite worked and another five trying to pluck up the courage to turn it on after my initial activation of the machine resulted in such a noisy clanking of the ancient plumbing that I was sure I would wake up Bryce and Lara, I eventually got washed and dressed and crept downstairs.   
Hungry, I headed for the kitchen, believing that Lara wouldn't begrudge her guest some breakfast. Searching the cupboards, I finally decided to do my host a favour, and have a sandwich using some of the ingredients in the fridge that were about to hit their sell by date. I couldn't manage without my crutches, needing the support they gave to lessen the pain from debilitating agony if I moved alone, to a milder ache that only made me limp and breathe heavily. I stood for a second, trying to work out the logistics of making a sandwich. So far I'd managed by using one crutch and working with one free hand, so I supposed that that was how it was going to have to be.   
Collecting the ingredients one by one, I began to try to make my breakfast. I was tired, in pain and irritated, and I alleviated my anger by cursing each ingredient in turn, finding it all too easy to find fault. Being right handed, I nearly scolded myself as I tried to pour the kettle for some tea with my left hand, spilling most of the water over the counter. I didn't want tea, I didn't like tea, I wasn't even quite sure how to make tea, but hell knows where Bryce had conjured that coffee from last night. My question was soon answered when Lara announced her presence with a raucous laugh that nearly knocked me off my feet. I managed to grab the kitchen table with my free hand, feeling a shot of agony slice through me at the sudden movement.   
"Don't do that!" I yelled at her angrily, incensed that she could find my trouble so funny and embarrassed that she could sneak up on me like that. Not replying, she magicked some coffee out of a cupboard and took over the preparation of my breakfast. Deciding to leave her to it, I fell into a chair and watched, feeling the pain subside as I rested.   
"You think that was funny?" I asked as she gracefully presented me with my morning meal and floated into the chair opposite me to drink my abandoned tea. She smiled mischievously, and I glared, genuinely angry, but good food, coffee, and an infectiously good mood from Lara dispelled my rage quickly, and I found myself smiling back at her. "Guess it's not that bad," I said after a testing sip of my coffee, "still say this is a backward country, though. Your bread is...springy."   
"No different to your sour dough," she shot back.   
"I don't _like_ sour dough," I said, clarifying the difference, "I _like_ bread."   
"Tsk," she said, dismissing me.   
I stared at her for a second, weighing her up before deciding to subtly press an issue I had been wondering about since last night. "Found any more trouble to get yourself into to worry that boyfriend of yours?"   
Staring back blankly for a second, Lara then suddenly realised who I was talking about. "Bryce isn't my boyfriend. We're just very close friends, that all."   
"Oh, so that's why I heard you two giggling as you left his room at four this morning, then," I said teasingly to cover up my delight at that statement. She was gorgeous, she was tough, she knew what a Glock 17 was, and she was _single_!   
"We were watching TV and talking. Late, yes. Clandestine rendezvous, no. Didn't wake you, did I?" Her manner suggested that she was oblivious to the real reason I had asked.   
"No," I said, eating more sandwich, "I was already awake. Back pain."   
Without prompting, she began to elaborate on the mysterious relationship between herself and the bizarre but likeable Bryce.   
"Bryce and I – we spent a couple of years flirting, then we decided to see if there was anything more, but there isn't. Our close personal contact is a remnant of a romance that never was."   
A remnant of a romance that never was? I blinked, wondering whether I had imagined that last comment or if it had really fallen from Lara's lips. God, it was clichéd. Quickly and, I thought smugly, skilfully steering the conversation back to lighter and more comfortable tones, whilst at the same time testing the waters with regards to flirting with Lara, I ventured, "Clearly, the man is gay."   
Lara looked slightly taken aback for a moment before laughing loudly. How she could be so cheerful at that hour of the morning I didn't know, but I was glad that my comment had hit target so well. "And just what is that supposed to mean?" she said, grinning.   
"Ah well, that would normally be the moment where I'd sweep out of the room before you had a change to react, leaving you flustered and me safe from questions like that. But, as you can see, I'm kinda incapacitated in that aspect."   
"Would you like me to sweep out for you?" Lara joked, clearly enjoying the exchange.   
"Go right ahead." I flashed a disarming smile that was met with one of Lara's own, and, at the just the perfect moment, the phone rang.   
"Saved by the bell," I teased, and I smiled to myself triumphantly as Lara left the room. Things were going well.  
  
I returned to my room and slept for a while after the sandwich and when I awoke later and emerged from my room it was just in time to see Lara leaving hers dressed to go out.   
Smiling, she said, "Sleep well?"   
"Yeah," I said, nodding, totally refreshed.   
"I'm off to pick up Hillary," she said, "Make yourself at home. Feel free to explore. I don't think Bryce is actually awake yet, but if you have any problems just wake him up. Shan't be long."   
With that she swept off down the massive staircase and I followed her, stopping at the landing overlooking over the entrance hall. I appreciated the view for a while, taking in the silence punctuated only by the ticking of the antique grandfather clock and turning to look out of the window behind me. The view was of a green leafy tree, it's thin willowy branches swaying in the wind peacefully. Moving closer to the window, my view increased to encompass a gravel walkway below us that led to who knew where, and a stretch of grass before a high red brick wall. I wanted to explore the grounds, but I also wanted to explore this amazing house whilst it was quiet and I was likely to be undisturbed. The whole thing was like something out of a movie, so unlike most of the houses in America. I considered my options – I certainly had the time to check out the place, and no-one would mind, but could I make it all that distance on crutches before my arms fell off? Probably not. So – what would I do today?   
After a while more musing with the tree out of the window for company, I decided to start exploring the house. Whatever I didn't get done, I'd work on tomorrow.   
About an hour later I was investigating what I had decided to fantastically name the drawing room when I was interrupted from my examination of an intricate carving on a wall panel by Bryce.   
"Kurtis," he greeted.   
"Hey, Bryce," I returned over my shoulder before turning more slowly to face him.   
"Sleep alright?"   
"Yeah, yeah." The conversation was clearly pointless, serving to make whatever Bryce wanted to say to me seem less rude. I went along with it, waiting.   
"Where's Lara?"   
"She went to pick up Hillary from the station."   
"Oh, god, he's not coming back is he? I was getting used to living in a house, not a museum."   
I smiled. There was a brief moment of silence and then Bryce took the plunge.   
"So, how did you meet Lara?"   
"Oh, we were both after the same guy."   
"Yeah?"   
"Yeah." I pretended to not recognise the prompt in the question. I didn't want to talk about what had happened to Lara and me, it wasn't really my business. If Bryce wanted to know, he should ask her, and besides, I didn't want to discuss Eckhardt with a stranger.   
"Bad guy?"   
"Yeah, yeah, he was."   
"You get him?"   
"Saved the world."   
"Good, good."   
"I'm sure Lara'll fill you in."   
"Yeah," said Bryce, pretending to be satisfied, "yeah, probably. I, er...I have to go and do some things." He pointed down the corridor and I nodded, dismissing him.   
He left and I looked around the room, casting my eyes around for something else to catch my interest. My gaze fell on an out of place carved lion's head that didn't quite seem to fit, and I went to investigate, hoping to find a secret passage or cupboard to keep me occupied.


	4. Visit 4

**Hey! What's with the document uploader suddenly whacking spaces in my work all over the place?!!  
I completed AOD for the second time today - anybody else notice the look Kurtis gives Lara when Muller gets thrown to Boaz? It's like, 'Ah, no loss! LOL. Anyway...  
===============================================================**  
  
Two days passed uneventfully. I continued my exploration of the house and grounds, and chatted with Lara, Hillary and Bryce, getting to know them. Bryce was a likeable guy, someone I could see myself having fun with. Hillary, though too formal for my taste, was also ok, and if nothing else his intense Englishness was good entertainment. Lara continued to prove herself an enigmatic but extremely attractive personality, and I found myself wondering if a permanent work partnership was on the cards. She was also still sore from her ordeal in Egypt and Europe, and Bryce, Hillary and I observed an unspoken censorship in our conversations with regards to just what had gone on with the Cabal. I was grateful for the silence – it meant that when not immersed in my investigation of the house, I could avoid my memories just by finding someone to talk to. It was when I was alone at night with nothing but the TV and radio in my room for company that my feelings crept back up on me. I would sit in the dark seeing my father in the shadows and his blood in the aging discoloured floorboards until I turned to the liquor that I had asked Hillary to pick up the last time he had been to buy groceries. Taking my money, he had raised an eyebrow and regarded me with a curious glance, but had obviously decided that it was none of his business and, being the prim and proper butler he was, had duly returned with a large bottle of bourbon.  
On the morning of the third day I was in the library flicking through a book that I remembered from the Lux Veritatis libraries when I was interrupted from my memories of poring through the book in lesson time by footsteps approaching from down the hall.  
I looked up to see Lara wearing clothes not unlike those she had been wearing in the Louvre. Snapping the book shut, I greeted her, "Hey Lara, what ya doin'?"  
"I decided it's time to get back in training. You can come and watch if you want," she said, stopping in the doorway and placing her hands on the door jamb as she leaned towards me.  
Eager to participate in some exercise, if only vicariously, I agreed, and we set off downstairs, me in a random combination of foot and crutch steps. A couple of times I nearly fell, and I swore as I managed to regain my balance. Lara recognised that I needed to retain my independence, and settled for hovering her hand near my elbow, ready to catch me should I not save myself. After I had managed a few steps without incident after settling into a haphazard movement, I said, "So you're gonna head back out? Save the world some more?"  
"I honestly don't know," Lara replied, her voice clearly conveying the confusion I understood only too well.  
"You'll get things straight." She would. She just didn't see the end of the tunnel yet. Somewhere inside me a rational voice told me the same, but I wasn't feeling too optimistic either.  
At the bottom of the stairs, I continued forward, resolutely focusing on my goal. Lara followed a few moments later, and together we headed for the training arena, for want of knowing what else to do.  
  
Bryce pushed an office chair over to me, and Hillary, also gathered for the show, held it steady whilst I sat. Lara stood at the entrance to the training room, the plate glass automatic doors open ready to receive her. Unholstering her guns, she took a deep breath, and stepped forward. To my side, Bryce attracted my attention by tapping on a monitor, and I turned to see an aerial view of the room, with Lara creeping forward, visibly shaking with adrenaline. I frowned, wondering just what she thought was out to get her in there, but my question was soon answered when a mechanical whirring signalled the arrival of a big metal thing with arms and legs that leapt out at her from behind a plaster wall.  
"What in hell is that?" I yelled, as shaken by its sudden arrival as Lara, who froze momentarily before ducking behind a pillar.  
"SIMON," replied Bryce. "My pride and joy, and Lara's nemesis."  
"No wonder she's so good," I muttered to myself, but her performance today didn't seem to be matching up with what I had seen on the security cameras in the Strahov, or her agility in chasing me in the Louvre. Hoping to fire on SIMON from behind, she had stepped around the pillar, but had misjudged either his intelligence or his speed, because she met him right in front of her, and she stumbled and fell as she was forced to leap backwards to avoid his swiping claws.  
"Blimey, she _is_ out of practice," Bryce said, leaning back in his seat and chewing his nail absent mindedly. To me, it looked like she was in trouble, but Hillary and Bryce seemed quite calm and confident that she'd be ok, even though 'SIMON' looked homicidal and deadly.  
Scrambling to her feet, Lara took off at a run, diving behind a mock up of an altar. She fired over the top of it, following SIMON's path as it leapt and sailed through the air, landing behind her. Gasping, she thrust her weapons back in their holsters and ducked as SIMON lunged for her. As the machine recovered, Lara took the opportunity to stand and side flip, but SIMON grabbed for her ankle, and she fell, landing on her side and having the wind knocked out of her. She rolled onto her back just in time to intercept SIMON's arms as he hovered over her and thrust a saw at her skull and a claw at her throat.  
She definitely seemed to be struggling as SIMON matched his strength against hers in an effort to connect his weapons with her jugular, and I wasn't sure that training this intense and dangerous was a good idea if you got killed before you even got out in the field. I found myself feeling slightly worried, and my eyes darted to the two men either side of me to gauge their reaction. Hillary seemed to be picking up on my concern, but Bryce brushed it off.  
"She's fine," he said, waving us away. He was contradicted a second later when one of the monitors flashed a large red 'Danger' sign with a smaller sub-sign, 'Component 3032 Circular Saw Within Danger Margin – 1.0cm of Target'.  
"Bugger!" yelled Bryce, and he sprang into action, frantically typing a few short commands into the computer and exhaling in relief as the monitors all showed, through various outputs, that SIMON was deactivated.  
"I'll get a first aid kit," Hillary shouted as he ran off, and Bryce ran for Lara. I pushed myself out of my chair and onto my crutches and made for her as fast as I could, ignoring the pain in my stomach.  
"Are you alright?" I heard Bryce ask her as he reached her side, but Lara just got to her feet and tore off, out into the hallway. Bryce made to follow her, but I put out my hand and grabbed his arm, stopping him.  
"Let her go," I said. Hillary, staring after her a few yards away where he had stopped dead as Lara nearly collided with him on his return, had a look of deep concern etched on his face that stayed as he looked to us. There was silence for a moment, and then the clattering of more footsteps as Lara began to run again.  
"Give her a few minutes," I clarified.  
Bryce nodded and moved to kneel at SIMON's side, busying himself with the controls, and Hillary said, "Of course," before turning to return the first aid kit to its cupboard. In any other situation I didn't think that my words would hold much authority with such a close knit family, but they had obviously decided that right now, having been in Paris and Prague with her, I understood Croft better than anybody else.  
  
Half an hour later, Hillary came and sat next to me at the training control computers. Bryce was sat on the floor not far away, making some adjustments to SIMON's circuitry.  
"What happened to her?" Hillary asked bluntly, and I shook my head as I continued to stare at the floor.  
"I can't tell you. She should do it, when she's ready."  
"She nearly got killed!" he spat back at me, but I didn't speak or even react. I knew what was wrong with Lara at her core, and I knew it had nothing to do with Eckhardt.  
"She's never had a problem with SIMON before," Bryce spoke up. "He keeps her on her toes, sometimes he nearly wins, but he's never really managed to threaten her before." He sounded sad.  
"Has she ever had any problem before? With any aspect of her training?" I asked.  
"No," sighed Bryce. "As long as I've known her, she's been on top form."  
"Mentally as well as physically," Hillary cut in. "She's always bounced back from her ordeals. It's just since Egypt...if she'd just talk to somebody..."  
"You think she's losing it, don't you?" I asked them both. They nodded reluctantly.  
"Yeah," I breathed as I pushed myself to my feet and turned to go and find her, "so do I."  
  
I spotted the top of her head over a hedge and set off towards her, finding her sitting hunched and sniffling quietly on a beautifully carved and weather worn stone bench. She didn't show any signs of noticing my arrival, and I sat next to her, looking out at a distance over the flower beds ahead of us, squinting slightly in the sun.  
After a few moments of silence, I ventured with a comment that I thought hit the nail on the head.  
"You just need to find your confidence again."  
"What makes you think I've lost it?" she asked.  
"Bryce said you nearly died last year, and now you can't even win against SIMON, something you've never had trouble doing before. He's worried about you, worried you're losing your touch. Hillary, too."  
"What did Hillary say?" Her voice was timid, and I thought she was about to start crying again.  
"He wants you to see someone, a counsellor or something."  
She sat, a small, scared child, waiting for me to tell her what to do, or perhaps trying to work it out for herself.  
"People like us, we feel. Counselling, talking, none of it will help, not enough. You need to get back out there and fight again – convince yourself you can still do it, or die trying." With this I turned to look at her, and she met my eyes, her own red from upset and large with shyness.  
"Did Bryce tell you what happened in Egypt?"  
"How could he? He doesn't know himself yet. You've not told anyone, remember? All we know is that you got buried under a collapsing pyramid and then turned up alive three months later."  
She didn't look away as she began her story, but instead held my gaze with one of her own that grew ever more frantic and desperate. "It was dark. I couldn't move. My ankle was broken, my ribs cracked, I had concussion, I couldn't see a thing, and there was no way out. I dug, lost consciousness, dug some more. I don't even remember half of it, but I do know that somehow I ended up with some nomads who took care of me. They said that Werner and the others had left a couple of days before. Didn't stay long, did they?"  
Bingo. "Oh, so that's your problem. You can't go back out there because you don't think, if something goes wrong, that your friends will back you up."  
"I didn't have any back up in Prague," she said, suddenly angry.  
"You had me."  
I formed the words succinctly, with truth and conviction, challenging her with my eyes to deny it. She couldn't, and looked away, glaring. I continued, my voice softer. "Lara – Bryce, Hillary, they'll help you. They won't leave you. I don't know the details but I don't for one second believe that they gave up on you in Egypt easily. You gotta get two things sorted in your head – first, you're still strong, you can still do it, and you need to do it. It's who you are. Second – you've always got somebody there to help you when it gets too much, and it will get too much. No-one can do everything on their own. Bryce, Hillary. Me. We'll be there."  
The last addition to her list of helpers surprised even me, as I realised that I meant it. I hadn't just said it to placate her. Coming back to the matter at hand, I decided that I had said enough, and got up to leave. She needed to think.  
"What about you?" she called after me after I had travelled not more than a few yards. "How are you managing?"  
"Oh, y'know," I said casually, stopping but not turning, "muddling through. All you can do."  
  



	5. Visit 5

By the time I'd reached the house, Lara had mused over our conversation, decided I was right, and come all the way up the garden to level with me as I hopped through the doorway. Those crutches were really slowing me down.  
Striding past me with her head held high and her posture determined and confident, she looked every inch the image of someone on a mission.  
"Rematch?" I asked, casually. She didn't answer, just smiled over her shoulder as she continued to march fluidly towards the training arena. I matched the smile with a triumphant one of my own as she disappeared through the doorway, and followed her.  
As I flopped into a chair next to Bryce, who was reloading Lara's guns ready for her, I heard her raised voice from the kitchen, where she was apparently having words with Hillary.  
"I really think that I'll find my own way. I'm sorry, Hillary, but if you want to help me, let me find my own solution."  
I looked to Bryce, my face registering a 'Poor Hillary, wouldn't like to be in his shoes' kind of look, and Bryce complemented it with one of amusement. "Oooooh," he said in a mocking tone of voice. We laughed just as Lara returned, giving us a reprimanding glare before accepting her guns back from Bryce.  
"Ready to win?" he asked.  
"Absolutely," she replied, smiling, and she turned and headed back towards SIMON's lair.  
Watching her stalk into the depths of room, I asked Bryce, "Where's SIMON?"  
"West side of the room, on top of a column. He's programmed to strike when she's taken the prize."  
"Which is?" I looked at him out of the corner of my eyes, turning my head away from the monitor only slightly.  
"Jump drive. South end of the room, clearly visible, not so clearly booby trapped," and then, "Wow, she's jumpy," as she opened fire on a damaged column that had dared to drop some crumbling plaster.  
"Booby trapped?"  
"Spikes in the floor, axe on the ceiling." Bryce seemed calm and confident in Lara's abilities once again, obviously reassured by her own reassessment of her abilities that seemed to have taken place.  
At that moment Hillary re-entered the room. He must have heard Bryce's last comment, because he said, his voice thick with disbelief, "Bryce, you haven't?"  
"What? She can handle it," Bryce protested, dismissing Hillary with a wave of his hand.  
"She doesn't even know they've been installed," the butler reprimanded slowly. "She's not doing so well, she'll - "  
"She'll be alright," Bryce interrupted. We were about to find out, because Lara was just reaching the objective of her mission. Hillary exhaled in frustration with what he viewed as Bryce's careless behaviour, but stayed silent to watch the events play out.  
Lara took the jump drive and, as if on sixth sense, back flipped out of the path of the traps before they could strike, rolled, and simultaneously drew her guns, opening fire on SIMON as it - he - sailed down towards her. It was hard not to think of something so well constructed and intelligent as not real.  
So far, she was doing brilliantly, much more like the adventurer I had first met, and I could only become more astounded at her ability and agility as she set an ingenious trap for SIMON. Baiting him into leaping towards the axe, she rolled off a block out of his path, landing and rolling in one fluid movement to keep her sights trained on him as he missed her and instead caught the blade of the axe in his side, sending him to the floor in a crash of dust and clanging metal. For a moment, we were stunned. She had done it. We erupted into applause and cries of joy as Bryce and Hillary ran for her where she still lay on the floor, breathing heavily, her guns in her hands at her sides. I moved faster than I thought possible with my injuries, following them to congratulate her, yelling my appreciation of her acrobatics.  
"When did those spikes and that axe appear?" Lara asked breathlessly as she hugged Bryce.  
"I thought it might make a nice surprise for when you got back home," Hillary replied, laughing, apparently now glad that Bryce had chosen to use them in the exercise and ecstatic that she had conquered them.  
"I think it might have been just the right kind of surprise, Hilly," she emphatically remarked. I agreed with her. She was going to be alright. I could only hope the same for myself.  
  
After some lunch I went to the gym room to get some exercises in. Lara had set up a visit from a physiotherapist for the next day, and I wanted a head start. I was also bored.  
Doing some gentle stretches, my mind drifted back to my almost constant torment. I just didn't feel right. I felt unfinished. I felt as if there was something far more important that I should be doing instead of hanging around a mansion pandering to a woman who was too wrapped up in her own petty problems to notice anybody else's, but there wasn't, was there? There was nothing more important because she had taken care of it!  
No. No, that was unfair. I stopped my exercises, which had become steadily more violent with my mental outpouring, to lean my elbows on a vaulting horse and my head in my hands. I breathed heavily, exhaling long and slow.  
Lara did not deserve that. She had understood that killing Eckhardt should have been my closure - she had tried to persuade me to go with her, told me that it was my job, but I was the one that had insisted she leave, I was the one who had refused to face my nemesis. It was my fault that I felt like this.  
I let my forehead drop to the horse and wrapped my arms around my head, crawling away into my own little dark world where I could be alone with my demons.  
Eckhardt was dead, my father was avenged. I had to accept that, move on. I had to calm down - I lost control of my psychic abilities when I got like this, and if I had inadvertently activated my chirugai and it was now whizzing around my room destroying things unchecked, well, then it wouldn't be the first time.  
A memory surfaced at that thought - a Lux Veritatis lesson. A child crying and yelling at his father in frustration because he couldn't control his chirugai, and the bladed weapon, aggravated by the storming torrent of thoughts and conceptions in the child's irritated mind, flying around the room in a random unpredictable path, a singularity of destructible power, unbridled. The father plucks the weapon out of the air effortlessly to prevent it from doing damage, and steps towards the child, towering above him menacingly. Concentrate, he tells the child. Concentrate and focus or face his unspoken threat of finding out what happens to those in the order who do not. "Kurtis?"  
I was shaken out of my thoughts by Lara's soft, concerned voice.  
"Kurtis, are you ok?"  
"Yeah," I sighed, composing myself and standing up as straight as I could manage, wincing slightly. "I'm fine. Just in a bit of pain, that's all." I smiled reassuringly.  
"Oh. Ok." She moved further into the room and hoisted herself onto a shoulder high block, sitting down with her legs dangling over the edge.  
She looked around the room, rubbing her thighs absentmindedly. God knows what she wanted. Maybe she just didn't know what to do with herself and so had come to bother me. Yep, there I went again, bitching at the woman who had saved my life and taken me in. Nice one, Kurtis.  
"You feeling better about yourself now you've beaten SIMON?" I asked, leaning on the horse.  
"Yeah." She nodded and smiled. "I don't feel quite so useless anymore."  
"Good. Cured?" I asked enthusiastically, slapping the vaulting horse.  
Lara looked down and laughed quietly. "Not quite." She looked up at me through her lashes and smiled again. "Thankyou. Kurtis." She slid off the box and jogged out of the room, her trademark braid swinging behind her.  
"You're welcome," I conceded to the empty room. Matching her earlier action of looking around the room, my gaze fell on the view out of the window, and I decided to escape my childhood memories and head outside into the sunshine to carry on looking around. 


	6. Visit 6

**Thanks for all your latest reviews. You're all wonderful peaches. :-)  
In return, I present to you the following chunk of fanfic.  
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Of all the things you'd expect to find occurring in a dining room at meal time, a flirtatious tickling match isn't generally one of them, but there it was, said flirtatious tickling match, right there, on the dining room floor.  
I came to a dead halt, blinked, and then just stood and observed, slightly disbelievingly.  
Bryce and Lara.  
Tickling.  
Flirtatiously.  
"Oh, Kurtis. Hello. Hillary says dinner should be ready in about five minutes," Lara managed to get out between giggles as Bryce went mercilessly on the offensive. He whacked her around the head with a seat cushion, but when Lara tried to return the favour she missed and fell flat to the floor, where she was quickly pinned down by her opponent.  
"Quick, tickle her!" he yelled.  
I opened my mouth to decline, but stopped myself and instead stood there gaping like a fish as I considered the offer. That little spark of fun within myself that had been distinguished years ago only to be replaced by cynicism was slowly being fanned back to life the more time I spent in that mansion, and I found myself lowering awkwardly to my knees. I reached forward and began to tickle Lara, which turned out to be an extremely easy task, as the slightest movement from my fingers saw her erupting into hysterical laughter and twisting and turning in an effort to break free.  
Bryce was almost as excited, his eyes screwed shut as he laughed so hard he could barely keep hold of Lara, and I laughed with him, not remembering the last time I had done anything even remotely like that.  
Hillary appeared in the doorway and cleared his throat to attract our attention. Feeling embarrassed, I stopped my onslaught and focused my attention on him seriously, running my hands through my tousled hair and clearing my own throat. "Dinner is served, m'Lady," Hillary announced, and Bryce and Lara got to their feet, still giggling, completely unfazed by the interruption.  
My teammate clasped his hands around my upper arm and pulled as Lara did likewise with my other arm, supporting my back with one hand. I began to laugh again as their lack of humility rubbed off on me, and I was still smiling widely as I slid into my seat, trying to calm myself down.  
My excitement was soon chased away by a sudden shyness, as I realised that I was sitting at a huge dining table spread with a selection of rich foods with a bona fide Lady sitting at the head. I shifted in my seat, unsure how to act.  
"Go ahead, no formalities here. Take a cue from Bryce," Lara said, smiling warmly, and I laughed at her joke, glancing at Bryce as he swallowed the last bite of a fajita before anybody else had begun. 'When in Rome' I thought to myself, and threw myself into the festivities as I threw my shyness out of the window.  
"So, come on, what happened in Paris, then?" I looked up to see Bryce, still eating, once again oblivious to the conversation stopper he had just dealt. I looked to Lara, and waited for her reaction as she sat staring at her plate, slowly chewing a fry.  
Hillary broke the silence. "That's no proper dinner conversation."  
"It's alright, Hillary. It's time I told you." Lara flicked her eyes towards me as she spoke, seeking support, and I smiled encouragingly.  
She began to talk, telling her story from the time she had left Bryce and Hillary to wake to an empty house to threatening Pierre for information in the Café Metro.  
"I should have known the man," she said, looking to me meaningfully, "sitting in the corner was more interested in picking up leads than in the bad coffee. I don't honestly think that café had many hungry customers, if you know what I mean."  
"I was stalking her," I broke in casually. I didn't think it was that big a deal, but Bryce and Hillary stared at me as if I had said something really shocking. I stared back before deciding that I should probably explain myself. "I used to be in the Foreign Legion, and when I left I lived in Paris for a while. I have contacts there. Got to Paris on the trail of Eckhardt, heard this 'Croft Woman' was poking around, speaking to Von Croy and milking my own sources, and figured I needed to see just what she was up to. Then, of course, she turned out to be useful, so I got in her way a bit, let her know I was watching her, followed her to the Louvre and let her do my dirty work for me." From the reaction that I got from the two listeners, that didn't really help, but I was rescued by Lara who leapt back in with her own narration.  
"After I saw him in the café, he made a big show of riding his bike down the street away from me at top speed. It was half threat, half warning."  
"Of what?" asked Hillary, forgetting his dinner in the thrall of the story.  
"That he knew what I was up to, and that I was in his way."  
"I didn't mean it quite so menacingly. I just wanted you to know I was on to you, that was all," I defended. She made me sound like a thug!  
  
"Kurtis quite calmly stood by and watched the whole thing as I ran through the sewers to the dock to escape the fireball from the bomb," Lara said as she later reached that particular part of the yarn.  
I had to protest. "You're painting me in a bad light, Croft!"  
"I leapt out of the sewer, on fire, chased far too close for comfort by a fireball, and all you did was stand up, throw your cigarette into the dock and walk off with an air that said you didn't really care whether I'd survived or not!"  
For a moment I was lost for words. "I - I - ha!" Hillary and Bryce just watched the interchange, intrigued. "I admit, it wasn't the end of the world if you'd got fried, I could have got that painting myself, but it wasn't like I wanted you dead!"  
"You didn't exactly want me alive either," Lara pointed out, smiling with just a hint of evil intent. She was clearly enjoying this. I needed revenge. Soon. And I knew just when to get it.  
"I didn't know you then!"  
Lara smiled, accepting but superior, knowing that she had won that particular match.  
As she reached the part where I had pilfered the painting from her in the Louvre, I got ready to strike. I fully expected her to gloss over the rather personal details of the mugging, and she did.  
"The next thing I know there's a gun at my temple and a hand in my backpack."  
I leant my elbow on the table and my head in my hand as I turned towards her in my seat and, chewing on a tortilla chip, smiled at her devastatingly. She glanced towards me as I knew she would, and, met with my irresistible air of gorgeousness, quickly looked away again, embarrassed. As planned, Hillary and Bryce saw the whole thing. Score one for Trent.  
  
As dinner ended, Lara disappeared into the kitchen to help Hillary with the washing up, drowning out his protests with a shouted order that she was the lady of the house and she'd do the washing up if she wanted to, and anyway, she was bored.  
Bryce left, but did not go far, as he was waiting for me around the corner when I hobbled out of the dining room.  
"So? What was that about? Spill!"  
"I don't know what you're talking about, Bryce," I said, feigning innocence.  
"You! Smiling! Lara! Embarrassed! She's -never- embarrassed."  
I continued down the corridor to the lounge. "Were you at the same dinner as us just now?"  
Bryce leapt in front of me, effectively holding me hostage. He folded his arms. "Tell me."  
"Well, she might have been remembering - nah, that was nothing." I turned and started off in the opposite direction, smiling conspiratorially to myself.  
"Kurtis," Bryce said warningly. I stopped, stood up straight, and stared off towards the other end of the hall.  
"A little more happened at the mugging than just a gun, if you know what I mean."  
"No. I don't."  
"First rule of holding a gun on someone is to make sure that you really do have the advantage." Blank silence from behind me. I turned. "I had to disarm her and check that she wasn't carrying any concealed weapons?" More silence. "I had to _search_ her?"  
Bryce's face took on a look of utter disbelief. "Noooo. You didn't?!"  
"You mean you wouldn't?"  
"You - " Bryce pointed at me, lost for words, looked back towards the kitchen, and then stared at me, open-mouthed, before smiling. "Nice one."  
  
I was in the gym the next day getting ready for my first visit from the physiotherapist when Lara and Bryce appeared in the doorway, physiotherapist in tow.  
"Kurtis, this is Mrs Tanser," said Lara, smiling as she motioned for her to step forward.  
"Good morning, Mr Trent. I hear you're recovering from quite an adventure." The woman, mid thirties, blonde and bespectacled, stepped forward with a smile and placed her bag down on the floor.  
"Er…" I stalled as I looked to Lara to see just what the physio had been told. Lara, realising that we didn't have our stories straight and couldn't really tell the truth about my injury, widened her eyes in worry for a second. Bryce, who was obviously there when the physio had arrived, mimed leaping out on Lara, who immediately caught on. The two grappled behind Mrs Tanser, who stood smiling at me, waiting for my explanation.  
"Well," I said, darting my eyes back to Mrs Tanser so she wouldn't grow suspicious, "I was jumped from behind."  
Apparently wrong - Bryce drew his finger across his throat and Lara swept out her arms, glaring at me and miming 'No!'.  
"I mean, er, I jumped a guy from behind."  
Bryce and Lara's little play morphed into Bryce holding Lara at gunpoint and Lara holding the back of her hand against her head dramatically, looking damsel-ish.  
"He was threatening a woman," I guessed, glancing between my accomplices and Mrs Tanser, who was regarding me strangely.  
Lara and Bryce broke into a silent scuffle, Bryce aiming a scruffy kick at Lara's stomach, who threw herself back against the wall whilst somehow making no sound.  
"He kicked me," I said, looking back to Mrs Tanser, who smiled and turned to look over her shoulder to see just what was distracting me. Lara and Bryce leapt back to their original positions, standing and smiling sweetly back to her. She looked back to me. Bryce thrust a pretend knife into Lara's stomach.  
"I fell back, and he, er, he stabbed me. With a knife."  
Mrs Tanser smiled politely and nodded. "Yes, yes, quite. Lady Croft did mention it." She laughed, a little unsure, and then said, "Shall we get started?"  
"Um, yeah. Yeah, sure." I smiled unnecessarily and glared at the duo for their pitiful acting.  
  
After the physiotherapy session, I saw Mrs Tanser out and then went to lie down, tired and aching after the exertion. I soon fell asleep, tossing fitfully as I dreamt.  
_"Focus!" my father yelled at me, towering above me with my chirugai in his hand, his knuckles white with rage. His hand flicked forward and the chirugai, blades spinning, lurched towards the side of my head. Crying out, I ducked, but the chirugai just turned back on itself and charged again. I threw myself backwards to distance myself from the weapon, to give myself just enough time to gather my thoughts and direct them, to push the chirugai away. My kinetic abilities hit the chirugai like an invisible racket, bouncing it back the way it had come, but my father was faster and stronger, and grabbed back command of the lethal disc, directing it in an arc around me and up behind me. The glow lit the dim room just enough to highlight the hard wooden floor around us as I dropped to it, letting my hijacked weapon sail forwards over me. Flipping over onto my back I screamed in rage as I thrust my hand towards the chirugai to amplify my telekinetic push, knocking the bladed disc off its path, sending it spinning straight towards my father's throat at a speed far greater than was normal. He ducked just in time, as the chirugai ploughed through where his jugular had been not a second before, before lodging its blades deep in the wooden panelled wall behind him with a thud.  
Realising what I had done, I lay on the floor with my eyes wide in fear as I watched my father slowly straighten back up, his own eyes blazing.  
"Good," he growled. Then he stepped over me and marched out of the room, leaving me lying in the dark with only the illumination from the hallway outside._

**'Devastating' and 'irresistable'? My, Kurtis is turning out to be sure of himself! ;-)**


	7. Visit 7

**The length this story is reaching is scaring me...  
No Need For A Name - Thanks for both your reviews. I had no idea about the crutches not being allowed on planes thing. However, as for your other two points, no matter how good security may be, you can't stop someone doing minor damage to a car such as scratching it out of jealousy, which is more what I was getting at, and I never said that Lara had PTSD - Bryce did, but Bryce is not infallible. I am simply giving my take on how Lara and Kurtis would be dealing with the situation post AOD given the characters presented to us in AOD. I'm a physicist, not a psychologist. ;-)  
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I awoke panting and sweating. Man, there were some serious demons inside of me. I lay for a while longer, pulling myself back to the present, listening to the rain outside. It must have started whilst I was sleeping; this was the first it had rained since my arrival.  
Feeling slightly calmer, I limped over to the desk and poured myself a shot from the bourbon waiting there, downing it with a gasp at the guilty pleasure of the burning in my throat, a sensation only understood by those in desperation. Cigarettes were another regular but unnecessary vice of mine - like the drink, I indulged in them quite often, but only because they went some way to making me feel better about whatever it was that was screwing my life up at the time. It was always one thing or another. Neither the alcohol nor the nicotine were addictions, but I let both of them teeter on the brink, enjoying the calming effect they could have on me and basking in the danger they presented. I picked up the packet of cigarettes laid next to the bourbon and moved to the window, lighting one and taking that first satisfying drag as I went.  
I flopped onto the window seat and sat with my knees up and the window wide open, breathing in my smoke and the crisp air as I watched the rain fall, hearing the patter of the drops on the gravel drive and, more closely, on my window sill. They fell and splashed, creating circles of smaller droplets around the impact point. I reached forward with my free hand as I took another drag of my cigarette and ran my finger through the drops, creating small streams to join them that swelled with the impact of more raindrops. A few of the splashes bounced inside, landing on my T-shirt and hands where they rested at the casement, mingling with the cold air that swelled in and created a calming, cooling atmosphere around me. I breathed out heavily, filling the air in front of me with smoke as I let my head drop into my hand as my elbow rested on the windowsill, tugging at my hair as I waited for my inner turmoil to calm itself.  
Finishing my cigarette, I blew out my final breath of smoke and stubbed out the butt on the wet windowsill. I reached out and shut the window against the elements, lingering for a moment to watch the rain continue unabated before hefting my crutches under my shoulders and heading off in search of Lara. I needed to talk.  
Puffing slightly, tired from the long journey through the house, I eventually came up behind Lara in the kitchen, turned away from me, concealing her actions. Not quite knowing how to begin, I plumped for a casual, disarming greeting. "Hello, Ms Croft."  
Ms Croft jumped, startled, and spun to face me with her hand on her heart. Now that she was repositioned, I could see what it was she had been doing - folding laundry. That was the last thing I expected to find her doing, and it threw me off my original intent.  
"You do your own laundry?" I asked, looking surprised, before insincerely apologising for making her jump.  
"Hillary's my only household staff, and he can't do everything. Besides, I'm down to earth - I don't expect to be waited on hand and foot just because I'm a Lady," she protested.  
"I thought all ladies wanted waiting on hand and foot," I quipped, leaning against the kitchen table with a matching casual air that caused a slash of pain to go through me in punishment for forgetting to pander to my damaged body.  
"Careful," Lara warned as I gasped in pain, "there's a reason you're on crutches you know - a couple of inches - "  
"A couple of inches to the right and I'd have been paralysed, yeah, I heard the doc." All the same I adjusted my position to one less cool but also less uncomfortable.  
"Why don't you just, for one second, stop posing and act like the injured party you are," Lara said, poking me accusingly. "Besides, I rather get the impression posing hasn't got you very far with the ladies." Her tone became playful as she smiled at me before turning back to her laundry.  
"Just making an observation about the feminine views on the role of man," I drawled in an equally playful tone, taking my pain relief one step further and sitting down.  
When she didn't reply, I decided to end the harmless chat and get down to business.  
"Lara - " I started, but was interrupted as Bryce came into the room.  
"Hey up," he said loudly as he retrieved some hardened pizza from the refrigerator. "What're you talking about?"  
"Oh, nothing," Lara dismissed. She took one look at Bryce's snack and screwed up her nose in horror. "Bryce - that pizza is four days old and it's cold - that's disgusting."  
"Tastes alright to me," came the muffled reply around a mouthful of congealed margherita.  
"I'm sorry, what were you going to say?" asked Lara, and I looked up to find her looking at me expectantly.  
From out of the corner of my eye I saw Bryce edge over to the laundry basket and fish out an article of Lara's underwear. Forgetting about the conversation I wanted and Lara's question, I just stared, grinning. Lara, seeing my distraction, turned and caught Bryce red handed just as he was escaping.  
"Bryce!" she screamed, dropping her laundry on the floor and darting after him. From my limited view of the hall through the doorway, I could just see Bryce shrinking away from a vicious attack as Lara beat him with the bra he'd stolen. He was laughing hard, and was still laughing as Lara marched back into the kitchen with a dramatic look of weary ire put on her face, and Hillary, sighing, threw him a duster and told him to go and dust.  
"Oh. Very funny," Lara said as she threw the bra back into the hamper, finding me laughing. Leaning back against the counter, she fixed me with a look and said again, "What did you want to talk to me about?"  
By now I had lost my nerve, and I suddenly found the view out of the window very interesting. "Nothing, it doesn't matter."  
Lara tugged my sleeve as she walked past me and opened the back door. "Come on, I want to show you something," she said.  
She was obviously pulling some tactic to try and get me to talk, but maybe I wanted her to succeed. So, I stood, grabbed my crutches, and followed her.  
  
We walked in silence through the woods at the edge of Lara's land, Lara occasionally offering her assistance as my crutches stuck and slipped in the mud stirred up by the earlier rainstorm. "Here we are," she said as we reached a bend in the track, the way ahead obscured by trees. I followed her round and was amazed to see before me a breathtaking view of miles of countryside dropping away from a small cliff, tree roots growing out of it and the final few raindrops falling off the tree leaves.  
"Wow," was all I could manage. "That's…..wow."  
Lara indicated a log, and we sat looking out at the view, surrounded by a canopy of trees on our vantage point above the drop.  
"Bryce and I used to come here a lot when we were dating," Lara said almost thoughtfully.  
I looked to her, surprised and not a little uncomfortable with her remark. It was one of those moments when girls forgot that guys did not talk about stuff like that.  
"I don't even wanna think about what's been going on, on this log," I muttered, giving it a distasteful glance.  
Lara laughed suddenly, loudly, startling birds in the trees that rose up, flapping and squawking in alarm before gradually settling again. The returning quiet, punctuated only by bird song and dripping water from the trees above us, was broken by Lara.  
"Why did you tell me to go and kill Eckhardt, Kurtis?"  
She knew precisely what I had wanted to talk to her about. Clever girl, but I was no longer so ready to open up. "What do you mean?"  
"Why did you stay to fight Boaz and send me to kill Eckhardt, when you wanted him?"  
"Boaz needed taking care of."  
"I could have done it."  
"The ledge of the pit was too high - one of us needed to go after Eckhardt, one of us needed to take care of Boaz, and I could use my powers to give you an extra boost out of the pit - you were the logical choice to go." She was, but it was a lame excuse, and it certainly hadn't helped me so far.  
"No, Kurtis, you chose to stay." Lara's tone was accusing, argumentative. "I could have helped you out and then killed Boaz from the ledge. Instead you chose to stay down there in the danger and let me go and avenge your father's death for you." I did, it was true, and now I was paying for my cowardice. Maybe part of the reason I had stayed in the pit was in hope that Boaz would kill me, but the majority of the matter - the real reason - was that I didn't want to face Eckhardt. "Didn't you want closure?" Lara asked softly, trying to catch my eye from where I was staring out across the distance.  
Sighing, I picked up a stick and poked the earth with it restlessly. I had to be honest with Lara, and more importantly I had to be honest with myself.  
"I didn't trust myself." There, it was out.  
"I honestly don't know if I'd have bothered going after Eckhardt if he hadn't killed my father. But he did, and I wanted justice." I paused, remembering Lara's assessment of the situation in the airlock. 'So Eckhardt went after your father and you want revenge'. "I wanted revenge," I restated, knowing she had been right all along. "And I didn't trust myself to be able to face Eckhardt with a clear head and finish the job properly. My anger would have got in the way." And I had to ensure the job was finished properly, if even by someone else. I had failed my father enough.  
Lara touched my arm lightly, and I looked to her.  
"I'm still angry," I whispered, "Angry that _I_ didn't get to kill him."  
"It was all an act, wasn't it?" Lara said, her voice showing realisation. "You seemed so cool out there. Untouchable. You were raging inside the whole time, weren't you?"  
"Yeah." I spat out the word under my breath, and I found I was shaking with rage, and that _was_ the word. Rage.  
I was silent for a few minutes before I could force myself to continue. Lara said nothing, just sitting and waiting, ready to listen for as long as I needed her. I had never had a moment like this with anyone.  
"For years - I had him to focus on. To shoot for. Eckhardt. That's all I had to think about, all I had to deal with. And now it's done, and I don't know what comes next. I've drifted and I've tracked and put everything else on hold and now I'm done - now Eckhardt's dead - " I could say no more. To say it would be to admit it, to make it true. I was alone in the world with no purpose, and it was a cold, lonely night in my soul.  
"I have nothing to return to," I said softly. My hands were clutched together so tightly that it hurt, and I blinked away tears that threatened to fall. I was still shaking, and I could do nothing except stare at the earth and exhaust every ounce of effort I had trying to keep myself together.  
Lara placed her hands atop mine, giving a gentle squeeze, but did not speak.  
Minutes, or possibly hours, passed with just Lara and I sitting in the woods, not speaking, not moving.  
Eventually, Lara moved to gently prise my hands apart in an effort to bring me back out of my turmoil, and the feeling caused a memory to crash down on me with such clarity that I gasped.  
_Returning from stowing the two Periapt Shards safely as my father had instructed me once he had learned that Eckhardt was near, I leapt off my bike and began calling for my parents, throwing the door of the motel room open and rushing into the room.  
"Dad! Dad! I saw a car - I think it's Eckhardt! We have to go! Dad!"  
As I finished my warning, I saw that it was too late. It had been Eckhardt, and he had been leaving.  
My mother sat at my father's side, crying hysterically. My father lay, his body burned and his face frozen in fear for my mother, dead. I noticed then the almost satanic symbols daubed on the walls in my father's blood, still wet and dripping. "NO!" I screamed, dropping to my knees next to my parents and staring in horror at the nightmarish scene before me. I don't know how long I sat there, breathing heavily, close to crying, and dying inside, but I eventually came to my senses. Eckhardt still did not have the shards, and there was one last member of the order left. Me.  
"Mom," I said quietly, looking towards her. I reached out to raise her head to make her look at me. "Mom." I raised her chin and gasped as I saw a gash down the side of her face, still bleeding, and a bruise across her temple.  
"I didn't tell him about you," she said, her voice shaking. "He wanted to know who had the shards, but I didn't tell him."  
"Mom, he might have seen me. We have to leave. Come on." I tried to pull her to her feet, but she wouldn't come.  
"As far as he's concerned the Lux Veritatis is dead. He never knew your father had a son. He won't be back, we can stay. We can stay." She began to cry again, reaching out to my father's face and stroking his face lovingly.  
"No. No, mom, we have to go." I wanted to stay_ _as much as she did, but if Eckhardt had seen me on the road and suspected that I was the one that the shards had been entrusted to - I could not take that chance. I had to live to kill Eckhardt, and I had to protect my mother.  
"Mom," my voice was firmer this time, hard, "Mom we have to go." I placed my hands on hers where she was clutching onto my father's and gently prised her away. "We have to leave."  
_"Kurtis? Are you ok?" asked Lara, reaching up to move the hair that had fallen around my face. I blinked, clearing my head, and looked at her.  
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm ok. Let's go." I stood, and we started back to the house.  
  
That evening Hillary strode purposefully into the lounge where Lara and I were playing Scrabble and, standing almost to attention, said, "Has anyone seen Bryce?"  
"No," said Lara, shaking her head.  
"The kitchen is a disgrace."  
"Really?" Lara looked questioningly at Hillary, probably wondering why he expected the kitchen to be any different if Bryce had been in there.  
"He's left boiled over pasta in the microwave for the last time." Hillary turned to go and force Bryce to clean up.  
"Triple word score, plus the 'z' is on a double letter, that's 67 points and I believe that makes me the winner," I gloated, standing. "And with that, I'll go and find Bryce for ya, Hilly, I need to work off some aches." Lara tutted as she checked the scores and found that I had indeed won. I smiled at Hillary as I passed, and headed outside for Bryce's trailer.  
Reaching the door, I knocked twice sharply and then looked over to the window, sharp light pouring out against the rapidly gathering dusk. My attention was brought back to the door as it was yanked open from the inside. "Kurtis," greeted Bryce. "Come in, mate."  
"Thanks." I hopped inside and stopped, taking in the haphazard surroundings. There was indeed a bowl of half eaten microwave pasta on the floor, no less than five computer monitors were all showing different displays and a TV was airing what appeared to be a bizarre British comedy. Bryce closed the door behind me and flopped back into his chair, grabbing the pasta and taking a mouthful.  
"What can I do you for?" he asked, eyes fixed on the TV.  
"Hillary wanted to - _what_ the _hell _is that?" I asked, moving closer to the monitor that had caught my attention. "Is that Lara?!"  
"That," said Bryce, pointing, "Is my first million."  
"Yeah?"  
Bryce punched a few keys on the keyboard and the computer generated vision of Lara showing on the screen beforehand was replaced with a sketchier version that proceeded to carry out a series of athletic manoeuvres - jumps, somersaults, back-flips, swan dives, even a commando crawl. "I present to you, the initial stages of development in a little project I like to call, 'Tomb Raider'."  
"Tomb Raider?"  
"A video game combining the physical prowess of the platform, the problem solving of the puzzle adventure and the combat skills of a shoot 'em up, all brought together in worldwide locations spanning the globe in an adventure to save the world."  
"You're turning Lara into a video game?" I raised an eyebrow and blinked, not quite believing that he would dare to do that to a woman who could crush him.  
"Gonna be a hit. Big hit."  
"Really?" I nodded, not having quite the same faith that Bryce clearly did.  
"Just you wait, my friend," Bryce said as he flopped back into his chair and picked up a dart, "I'm gonna make Lara a star."  
He threw the dart across the trailer and it shot home in a black and white photograph pinned on the wall, right in the eyeball of a grinning man holding up some sort of Mayan looking idol.  
I looked at the photo, looked at Bryce, and then leant back against the desk to await an explanation. Four darts later, when none had come, I said, "And who's that?"  
"Alex West."  
"And he's…?"  
"Lara's ex."  
"Right." I nodded, getting it completely. Smarmy looking guy who had dated Lara. Definitely deserved a dart. Or five. I grabbed one out of the pot sitting on the desk that housed several sets of darts and sent it flying towards the photo. It lodged in West's throat.  
"Nice," said Bryce, nodding in appreciation.  
"Yeah," I replied.


	8. Visit 8

**Godavari - You are forgiven. ;-) I hope your summer has been nice.  
Lara-is-my-rolemodel - Thanks for the review. :-) I love Bryce. Hee Hee.  
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I stayed up until gone midnight that night, sitting on my window seat in the dark, trying to find some direction. A shaft of moonlight cut across the room, falling on my upper arm and highlighting a scar. A lot of memories came with that scar, and regret. Too much regret.  
The two elements that had been haunting me since I had learned of Eckhardt's death floated around in the forefront of my mind, keeping me awake. The top and bottom of the problem was that I had let both myself and my father down by not killing Eckhardt myself, and that the utter lack of purpose left in my life in Eckhardt's place scared the hell out of me. I sighed, letting my arm fall across my knee from where my hand had been rubbing my forehead, and dropping my head back against the wall. If I could just get some idea, some suggestion, of what to do next, maybe I wouldn't be dwelling on Eckhardt so much. He was dead and gone, and that was it. I would never get another chance to kill him, I needed to get over it and move on with my life. Eckhardt was dead, my father was dead, I had screwed up with both and it was far too late to fix either.  
I sighed again, standing wearily and moving to the bed, where I fell onto the covers and buried my head in my pillow, seeking sleep.  
I dreamt that night, strange hybrid dreams of memory and imagination, with the core true to memory but the surroundings and settings wrong, mixed up, and I wasn't seeing it through my eyes, I was watching it from afar.  
_"You're leaving?"  
"Yeah, dad, I'm leaving." My arm stinging, bleeding, injured in a brutal training session that had been the last straw.  
"Eckhardt is rising, he'll be coming soon."  
"And the Lux Veritatis will deal with him a whole lot better without me around."  
"We need you."  
"Really? Do you?" My voice ringing in my ears angry and sarcastic. "Well that's not the impression I've been getting all these years." My father's eyes, hard and unreadable, his voice silent. "Not good enough. Try again. Focus. Concentrate. Try harder. You will **not** give up. JUST DO IT!!!! No matter what I did, I was never good enough for you. Not once did you tell me that I was doing ok, that I'd get there in the end."  
"But you did."  
"No thanks to you!" Shouting now, my face in his, my finger jabbing. "Did I ever reach your standards, Dad? Does this reach your standards?" My arm thrusting toward the door 20 feet away, my mind focusing in what has become second nature under years of trying to satisfy my father, the oak entry doors to the Order house being thrown open so hard that they fall partially off their hinges and lie akimbo at awkward angles_, _cowed under my mental strength. Me, leaving. And never looking back. Until that phone call.  
"Kurtis?"  
"Dad. What do you want?"  
"I need your help."  
"Really?" Incredulous.  
"Come back to America."  
"You want me to desert the Legion? That, that's funny. Didn't you always stress loyalty and commitment?" Sarcasm, a cutting remark meant to go some way for paying him back for all the times he'd cut me.  
"The Order is dying, Kurtis. Eckhardt is coming. You have to protect the shards."  
"Why can't you?"  
"I've already come too close to him, rescuing one of the shards when he killed Counsellor Creagh for it. He knows I have two now, and he has one already. He's coming, Kurtis. You have to protect the shards."  
Silence. I'm torn.  
"And you have to protect your mother."  
A clunk as I put the receiver back in the cradle. A minute passes as I do nothing, just standing. The receiver is picked back up again. Rustling as I search for a number in the phone book. A number being dialled and then an answer at the other end.  
"Bonjour. Quand le premier vol disponible pour les Etats Unis, s'il vous plait?"  
_That was all I could remember when I awoke the next morning, but from my weary state, I guessed that a lot more had played out than just that. I sat up, bending my legs to my chest and rubbing my hands over my face in an effort to wake myself up.  
Damn my father.  
'And you have to protect your mother'. That comment had caused me more grief since it had been said than anything else in my life. The clinching comment, the one thing that had made up my mind and persuaded me to abandon my friends and comrades in arms to go back to the Order that had never done me any favours. The sentence that had hinted that my father was resigned to being murdered, and the words that had hinted he cared and trusted me enough to make sure that mom got out alive. The trouble was, I could never work out which of those it had been. A carefully crafted comment to draw me in and get me to do what he wanted, or a plea for help for the family that just happened to coincide with getting the Lux Veritatis' work done.  
My face still in my hands, I let out a long shuddering breath and dragged myself out of bed, looking to forget everything in morning small talk with Lara, Bryce and Hillary over breakfast.  
  
Ten days passed. I had physiotherapy every other day and improved rapidly. I lost the need for crutches, and Lara thoughtfully spent the time and money to send them back to the hospital in Prague that had given them to me. Bryce and I developed our friendship based on a mutual admiration of Lara, Hillary kept the proper distance but did see fit to confide in me about all the household wrongdoings Bryce had been up to, and Lara and I let our relationship stand still. I had taken a big step by talking so openly in the woods with her, and that was plenty of opening up for a while. Nothing more of note was said until the afternoon of the eleventh day.  
I was in the hallway working on a puzzle box that had been taunting me since my arrival. It had sat there on the table challenging me every day but until now I hadn't been able to wipe the smile that I'm sure it would have had on it's face had it had a face, because I hadn't been able to stand for long and I hadn't wanted to take it away into a room to sit with it, out of respect for Lara. Today, however, was the day I would shut it up.  
I was close to doing so, the box resting on the table and reluctantly yielding to my searching fingers, when Lara came and stood next to me.  
"Kurtis."  
"Hey, Lara," I greeted absent mindedly as I continued to show the box who was boss, picking it up fully to examine the bottom of it.  
Lara spoke, but I didn't hear her, too engrossed in my personal battle.  
"Huh?" I said, glancing up for a second.  
"You could stay here. Move in. Until you get yourself sorted out. We could work together - we made quite a team before."  
That time I heard her, and it certainly got my attention. I put the box back down on the table, where it sneered at me, and looked at Lara, not quite knowing what to say.  
"Lara, I don't know…"  
"Well, you're welcome," Lara jumped in, gabbling quickly in a manner that suggested that she wasn't entirely comfortable with the turn the conversation had taken, "and you said that you didn't know what else to do."  
Oh, Lara. Had I really given her the impression that I wanted to stay with her? I sighed and turned away from her, not wanting to face her as I let her down.  
"I'm not sure that's a good idea."  
"Why not?" Lara moved towards me and I spun back to face her, suddenly angry with her, angry that she couldn't see why and that she was asking something of me that I just couldn't give.  
"You want me to stay because you're scared to be alone." My voice was raised and I was sure that my body language was threatening.  
"I'm sorry?" Lara looked taken aback, confused.  
"You're afraid to go back into danger alone, and you want me around to look after you."  
"Kurtis, we made a good team! I just thought that since - "  
"You just thought that you could solve everyone's problems by partnering up with me." I was suddenly calmer, tired almost, and I realised that had just lied to her, and in the process probably hurt her. I turned away again, speaking in a quiet, apologetic tone. "I'm sorry, Lara, I can't stay. And you need to start trusting yourself again."  
I left then, walking outside and moving off down the garden, leaving Lara behind. I walked fast, feeling the nagging ache in my stomach that came when I moved too harshly but ignoring it in my anger. It wasn't Lara's fault that she'd hit a nerve with me, and all the same I'd taken it out on her and given her some half-truth about only wanting me around to make herself feel better.  
I honestly believed that she was feeling some reliance on me, it would be only natural after her experience in Egypt being so closely followed by another life endangering mission in which she'd had back up. She didn't, however, _need_ me. She'd probably asked because she thought that I wouldn't be opposed to the idea, and she liked the idea of having a partner for a while. It had been an innocent proposition, and I had gone and blown up over it. It was just that it made me feel so lonely.  
I had always felt lonely - from my father keeping his distance, to my time in the Legion, to going out to track down Eckhardt, fighting supernatural occurrences wherever they happened to crop up along the way. I was just one of those natural loners who yearned for something more that they knew deep down would just leave them feeling trapped. Sitting on the same log that Lara had counselled me on only days before, I sighed as I stared out over the deserted wilderness falling away beneath me. A light breeze ruffled my hair and a few leaves picked up by the wind fell on skewed paths through the air around me.  
"Damn you, Dad," I whispered.  
  
The air was strained between Lara and I for the rest of the day, but we didn't avoid each other. In an effort to make reconciliation, I actually made an effort to be around her, but I barely spoke. Apologies weren't my thing. Lara either didn't notice the subtle olive branch, or didn't want to take it, because the air was still tense when she left the TV room that evening to attend to Bryce and didn't return, going straight to bed afterwards.  
I decided as I made for my own room that I should really talk to her, and knocked lightly on her door, half hoping that she was asleep and wouldn't hear me. Perhaps fortunately she did hear me, and called for me to enter.  
"Kurtis?" she asked as I stuck my head around the door. I moved into the room in answer and closed the door behind me. It became darker, and I was grateful for the cover of shadows in what was sure to be an uncharacteristically open conversation for me. I seemed to be having a lot of those lately. Croft's fault, I thought to myself grouchily.  
"I shouldn't have yelled at you earlier. Sorry," I said, staring at my feet.  
Lara smoothed out the quilt, inviting me to sit down, and I accepted, balancing on the end of the bed. "No," I said as Lara reached for the bedside light, "leave it." I wanted the dark.  
I stared at the wall, my eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. Beside me, Lara shifted closer to me.  
"I'm not sure it's a good idea for me to stay," I began carefully. "I can't just settle into a partnership with a normal life for a backdrop. Friends, domestic harmony - it isn't me."  
"It doesn't have to be like that," Lara said, her tone suggesting that she understood. It gave me the courage to fall a little deeper in the conversation and get a little more honest.  
I turned to her, drawing my inside leg up onto the bed and resting my hands either side of me. "Lara, have you seen yourself here? You, Bryce and Hillary are this close," I said, gesturing. "Hillary's like some adoptive father to you, you and Bryce are like something out of - of - Moonlighting! I can't live like that, I can't." I paused and took a breath, holding her eye contact as I searched for what I wanted to say next. "I'm a loner, I don't have friends, I can't, I just - " I didn't know what else to say, and my body sagged.  
"You seemed to settle in quite well these past three weeks. You call joining in a tickling match being a loner? You've watched me train, joined in dinner conversations, teased Bryce with more skill than I have, passed evenings in front of the television with us. You might like being alone, but you don't hate company, Kurtis." Lara's voice was soft, unjudging.  
I sighed and leaned forward, leaning my elbows on my knees and running my hands through my hair tiredly. It was hard enough sorting out my feelings myself let alone trying to explain them to somebody else.  
"I just don't think I'll ever be able to set down in one place. I want to, but I don't think I can. I look at people with wives and girlfriends and friends, talking and laughing in clubs, whilst I'm sitting in the shadows and smoke in a corner, watching someone I'm following, or waiting for a contact to show, and I want what they have, but I don't think it's me."  
"Kurtis, you don't have to be a social butterfly who's the life and soul of the party and who can't step outside without seeing a friend," Lara said sympathetically, taking my hand. "Some people aren't like that. I'm not. What you can do is stay here, with us. You can still go out on your own and sit in clubs stalking people, you can still stand around on docks smoking cigarettes completely indifferent to the life threatening situations happening to the people around you," she said, making me laugh, "but you can always return here to an evening meal with friends and a night in front of the TV making fun of bad films." After a pause, came, "You said you'd be there for me. Are you going to go back on that promise?"  
She was really keen for me to stay, that much was obvious, and my manner became curious as I stared up at her through my fringe. "Why are you so desperate for me to stay?"  
Straight away, she answered. "I've never met anyone so similar to myself."  
"Not even Alex West?" I teased, suddenly feeling more like my old flirtatious self again. Lara had made me feel truly wanted, and it had taken away all the worry.  
"How do you know about him?" was her answer, genuinely thrown.  
"I asked Bryce who the guy in the picture was. The one in his trailer with the darts in it."  
Lara sniggered, and for a moment I didn't quite understand why, but then I realised that she must not have known about Bryce's sport, and I found myself laughing with her. Giving her hand a squeeze, I stood to go, still grinning in amusement.  
Closing the door behind me, I stood for a second wondering just what was going on with me. That was definitely the first time I had come out of a woman's room in the middle of the night with the situation behind me entirely innocent. She had a weird effect on me, that was for sure. If I could just find out what made her tick…

**Kurtis' question in French translates as, 'Hello. When is the first available flight to the United States, please?' In case you're unfamiliar with his history, the buzz on the internet is that he spent time with the French Foreign Legion. **


	9. Visit 9

**Shirtless Kurtis is for Godavari, who has frequently threatened to kidnap Kurtis from me or poke me with sticks if I don't update quickly. :-)  
The 'dance machine' referred to in this chapter is Konami's Dancing Stage, or Dance Dance Revolution as it is known in the US, or one of the many clones out there. I'm sure you've all seen them. They're fun. Go play on one.  
One instance of language in this chapter - but, hey, that's why I made this fic a PG-13. Kurtis strikes me as the swearing type.**

Just as I was pondering about how to get the inside angle on Lara, the perfect solution appeared in the form of Bryce. The next thing I knew, I was saying, "Hey Bryce! Hold up! You…wanna drink?"  
"Er…I've just spent five hours doing virus scans - why not?" Bryce grinned at me and we went into my room, Bryce making himself at home whilst I searched for the bottle of whisky I'd lately persuaded Hillary to add to his shopping list.  
"So," I started, "tell me all about Lara."  
"Still deciding whether or not to take her up on the offer, eh?" Bryce downed the whisky I'd poured him in one as I drank my own.  
"Something like that," I said, hiding my true intentions which were probably written all over my face by looking down to refill our glasses.  
"Well, she's clever, and brave and athletic, as you know. What you may not know is that she can play the piano." Bryce followed this gem with another glass of whisky.  
"She can play the piano?" I asked, rather taken aback by the strange remark. Not quite what I was looking for.  
"Heart and Soul."  
"Now - now you're joking with me." Shot number three.  
"Well, what do you want to know?" Bryce asked, holding his glass out for shot four.  
"If I knew, I wouldn't be asking," I obliged, filling Bryce's glass whilst keeping mine only three quarters filled. Or was that a quarter empty?  
"Well, she's a good person, loyal and true and all that." Bryce's eyes were beginning to take on that glassy look, but there was a way to go yet. I needed him drunk enough to talk without realising my true intentions, but sober enough to be able to string a sentence together. And you, my dear Kurtis, I thought to myself, need to make sure you don't go the same way.  
"Yeah, I got all that. What about - what's she like? What makes her tick? You know her pretty well, right?" I said, waving the bottle in gesture instead of continuing to empty it.  
"Yeah, I s'pose. She's a bit neurotic…" Bryce trailed off, obviously wary as to how much he should say. Easily solved. I poured him another drink, rejecting my own glass. Yes, he was my friend, but really, what was wrong with getting him drunk? It wasn't like Lara was the kind of girl to be taken advantage of, and what kind of person resented being gotten drunk for free? He should be thanking me, right?  
"Neurotic how?" I asked, prodding for details, and Bryce giggled as he thought of the answer. Nearly there.  
"Go in her room and move her stuff around when she's not there. She'll go nuts. Nuts." He banged the glass down on the table, and I, not even realising that I was going the same way, giggled sillily. "You're not having another?" Bryce said, tilting his glass to mine and frowning at me.  
"Oh, er, yeah." Damn. I drank another shot, grinning at my drinking companion even as I felt the effects kick in. I couldn't be sure, but I _may_ not have been acting that smile.  
"And don't tease her about how much time she spends on her hair." Bryce stared fuzzily at the ceiling and stroked his cheek thoughtfully.  
"That is a pretty perfect braid," I stated, nodding emphatically. Too emphatically. Dammit. Sober - stay sober!  
"All down to hairspray. Eight bottles of it, all lined up in her bathroom." Bryce ran his hands out from a central point as if to demonstrate the shelf, and I couldn't help but laugh at his wobbly movements. "Don't even get me started on the amount of conditioner she gets through."  
"No?" We each emptied our glasses once again, and I immediately filled them, downing a second shot with a satisfied gasp as Bryce poured his down his throat. Surely that ought to loosen his tongue enough. I was ok, I was under control. Everything was under control.  
"She has this apple conditioner, and it's bright green - looks like toxic waste."  
"Maybe it is," I said, less annoyed than I thought I would be to have to blink to bring the far end of the room into focus.  
Bryce looked at me, equally glassy eyed, and said, dead straight, "Could account for her boundless energy."  
There was silence for a second as I looked at Bryce, and he looked at me. I looked at the whisky, back at Bryce, and mentally shrugged. Fuck it. I laughed hysterically.  
  
It wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been drunk, I was sure of it, but I was drunk, and I was glad, because if I wasn't, then I'd never have had the guts to do what I was doing, and damn, it was fun.  
We were in the billiards room, which, under the ownership of Lara and the influence of Bryce, was no longer a billiards room. Sure, there was a billiards table, and it looked like it had been there a heck of a time, but the piano, bookcases and easy chairs that I was sure were supposed to be with it had been replaced with a Playstation hooked up to the biggest TV screen I had ever seen, a small table tennis table and several arcade and pinball machines. What it is to be rich, eh?  
It was on one of the arcade machines that Bryce and I were making fools of ourselves then. I had seen them often enough in clubs, bars, bowling alleys and amusement arcades but I'd never been on one because a guy like me did not do things like that. Man, I couldn't believe what I'd been missing out on - those dance machines were fun!! The lights on the machine flashed as the Japanese trance music blared out, and the coloured arrows scrolled up the screen to be accompanied by our appropriate footfalls on the corresponding steps on the base platform in time to the music, but in our inebriated state we were missing most of them, or getting the timing right but the steps wrong, and neither of us really cared, because we were completely wasted and Bryce had already fallen over three times.  
Failing yet another stage, the music cut out and the machine yelled a platitude at us as the virtual crowd booed. I flopped back against the safety rail, laughing uncontrollably. I didn't know how long we'd been on the thing, but we were both drenched in sweat and I had an uncontrollable thirst. Soon solving that problem with another swig of vodka, I took off my T-shirt and flung it onto the pool table as Bryce went to open a window.  
"I hope we don't wake Lara and Hillary up," Bryce slurred, clambering onto the window ledge to look upwards to Lara's bedroom window above us. I turned to answer him just in time to see him lean too far forward and topple out of the window. "Whoa!"  
"Bryce!" I shouted, sniggering at the comical performance, and I rushed forward to see if he was ok. My agility impaired by the bottle of whisky, half a bottle of neat vodka, three alcopops and four snake bites we'd shared, I tripped on the game safety rail and did my own physical comedy as I went flying across the floor and landed flat on my face next to Outrun. Bryce's head appeared in the window as he begun to climb back in and, seeing me lying there giggling and confused, he took his turn to snigger at me. He tripped again as he brought his leg back into the room and did a pretty impressive but very clumsy somersault off the window ledge, landing on his back with his limbs splayed like a rag doll. Rolling onto my back, I clutched my stomach as I broke out into sobs of laughter, and Bryce joined me, clambering to his feet and staggering over to me to help me up before dragging me back onto the dance machine.  
"We can't go to bed," he managed to say through his drunken haze, "until we've knocked Lara off the leader's board."  
"Right," I replied, nodding seriously and snapping off a sloppy salute, "Right."  
Bryce restarted the game, but my foot caught against the base platform as I stepped onto it, and I fell forward, knocking over Bryce. We both landed in a heap half on and half off the dance machine as the music took up its maniacal beat around us, and all we could do was giggle.  
  
I awoke far too early the next morning, and forcing my head up as my body stayed sprawled on the floor or whatever it was I was on, I stared groggily round at my surroundings, trying to work out where I was. Groaning, I realised that I was asleep on the billiards table, and the heap curled up in the chair of the Jurassic Park game I took to be Bryce. I pulled myself off the table, stumbled as my feet hit the floor, and wearily staggered towards the kitchen.  
"Bryce," I said, shoving him as I passed, "Get up."  
"Hnph," said Bryce.  
I managed to make it to the kitchen, relying on the smell of coffee as I followed my nose, keeping my dry and crusty eyes half shut. Lunging for the doorway, I steadied myself against the jamb as I focused on my goal - the coffee - and steeled myself for an unaided hike across the room. I got halfway there when Lara interrupted me.  
"Toast?" she said, holding out a piece to me and smiling brightly. I stopped, looked at her blankly for a second at her then completely incomprehensible utterance, and then took one last lunge for the coffee.  
Relying solely on the counter to keep myself upright, I shakily poured myself a very large coffee that I knew was going to taste awful, and then, taking a breath, swallowed a mouthful. God, that was disgusting. Unfortunately I knew only too well it was just what I needed the morning after. Bryce. Had to get Bryce coffee. I managed the feat a second time and turned just as he staggered in, rubbing his head and wincing. I held the mug out to him and he took it. "Champion," he croaked, weaving back across the room, falling against the door jamb as he went. I followed him, periodically sipping yet more life giving yet foul tasting coffee. Don't get me wrong, I love the stuff, but after a night like that, nothing tastes good.  
"'You two getting on alright, then?" Lara said sweetly as I passed her. Bitch. I stopped, swaying slightly, turned towards her, and did the best I could in my current state - glare daggers. Lara sniggered. Couldn't fight. Needed bed. I tried to leave again, but Lara touched my arm. The sudden movement as my arm moved slightly with her hand caused the world to spin and I nearly threw up.  
"About moving in," Lara said, apparently oblivious to my agony, "take as much time as you want to decide. I realise you might not be comfortable deciding now. We don't really know each other that well, do we?"  
Erm…you snore, you're paranoid about people touching your stuff, your underwear is all black or peach, you bleached your hair when you were fifteen and it turned out looking like straw, and you shave your legs in the bath.  
"No," I said, looking thoughtful as I decided to agree with her.


	10. Visit 10

**ARGH! Why did nobody tell me that I'd missed out a chapter?! Sorry guys! THIS is chapter 10, the previous (utterly WRONG) chapter 10, is now chapter 11. I cannot believe I missed out a huge chunk! Good job I re-read my own work, eh?  
****Here ya go, Godavari. _chucks drunk and shirtless Kurtis over_ . Here's another installment, so put the pokey stick away!! ;-)**

"How do you feel?" I asked Bryce in a rough voice as I shuffled into the lounge behind him.  
"Er, like I'm gonna die," he groaned, falling onto the sofa, his legs getting thrown up into the air before collapsing back down, one on the sofa and one on the floor. I put down my coffee, slowly collected all the cushions off the chairs and sofas, wincing as I lowered my head to stoop to pick them up, and threw them into a disorganised heap on the floor at the free end of Bryce's sofa. I dropped to my knees in the cushions, took another sip of coffee that made me grimace, and buried my head in the seat of the sofa.  
"We were so drunk," Bryce pondered, rubbing his forehead with one hand.  
"Wasted," I agreed.  
"Smashed."  
"Totalled."  
"Plastered."  
Silence followed as we each ran out of synonyms before Bryce came up with, "Tipsy!"  
No, no, we were way worse than that. "I think we passed that point somewhere around 2am."  
"So, what we were talking about?" Bryce asked before drinking more coffee. He appeared to be enjoying his. Lucky him.  
"How drunk we were last night."  
"Right," said Bryce, then, realising that I had answered the wrong question, said, "No! I meant, last night." Please - as if I would know.  
"Er…" I said, looking up and wincing in the sunlight, trying to think. "Lara?"  
"Lara…" Bryce stared at the ceiling as he waited to see if that rang any bells with him. At a loss to know what else we could have been talking about, he accepted my answer. "Yeah, that must have been it."  
A few moments later I said, "Why were we talking about Lara?" There was something nagging in my mind that suggested that we had indeed been talking about Lara, and for a good reason, but I'd be damned if I knew.  
"I dunno, figured you fancied her."  
"Do I?" News to me. At least, it was at that particular moment. I blinked, taken aback.  
"Yes?" said Bryce, suggesting he didn't really know what he was talking about either.  
The conversation proved one thing.  
"Wasted," I stated, before letting my head drop back to the sofa and groaning quietly.  
Bryce gave his own groan, louder and more long suffering.  
"What?" I said, muffled in the sofa. It bounced as Bryce flipped onto his side and banged his head on the arm.  
"I have to fix the bloody computers!" he said, hitting the seat cushion and spilling coffee.  
"Why, what's wrong?"  
"There was a virus in the system last night, I didn't completely get rid of it before I went upstairs. It's probably going to take all day, and I'm dying."  
"_You're_ not dying, Bryce," I countered, "_I_ am." Bryce groaned, so I suggested, "Just leave it. Don't turn the system on so it can't do any more damage until you're ready to fix it, spend the day in the dark. That's what I'm gonna do."  
"Dark…" repeated Bryce, apparently very partial to that idea. "Bed…" With that, he drained his coffee mug, crawled off the sofa, and staggered out, probably to bed.  
  
With the help of a darkened room, several aspirins and a lot of gag inducing coffee, I had recovered by the evening. All day, bits and pieces of the previous night had started coming back in flashes. At least it explained why all those cringe worthy personal details had shot into my head when Lara had spoken to me in the kitchen. Oh Lara, I thought to myself, if only you knew… I laughed to myself evilly and decided, armed with a delicious new arsenal of personal information, to go and indulge in that universal form of flirtation - taunting. I grabbed my pistol from the drawer in my room and jogged down the stairs, enjoying my newly returned health now that I was recovering well and no longer paralytic with alcohol.  
Creeping up on Lara where she was practising in her firing range, I stalked slowly forward as I brought my weapon up to aim and slowly, quietly pulled the trigger. I had purposefully positioned myself so my shot at the last target on the range brought the bullet within feet of Lara, and I was met with a satisfying reaction. Lara whirled round, reflexively pointing her gun straight at me. Very impressive. Upon seeing me, she dropped the weapon to her side and put one hand to her heart, sighing in relief.  
I offset my weight to one leg and let my Boran X fall to my side, grinning.  
"Would'a thought you'd be more used to that."  
Lara stood, still trying to calm her breathing, giving me a withering look and not looking impressed with my marksmanship. I casually strolled past her down to the targets, plucking the target off the hook and grinning proudly as I saw I'd hit a perfect bullseye. I kissed the barrel of my beloved pistol and waved the paper target at Lara, who had come to stand by me, looking annoyed. She snatched it out of my hand and scowled with a face like thunder as she surveyed my work.  
"It's a talent," I announced, flicking my hair out of my face. The cocky routine - women couldn't resist.  
"I suggest you wipe that smug look off your face before I do," Lara said, not giving an inch. Thought she was immune to my charms, did she? We'd see.  
She clipped the target back up and began to prepare her weapons for their case, moving off back to the start line. I followed her and leant on the vaulting horse she was using as a table, trying to catch her eye. She fixed her gaze resolutely on her weapons with her jaw set.  
"Ah, come on, you're not a sore loser are you?"  
I was met with an icy stare, and countered it with roguish smile. Her manner remained untouched, so I gave up and instead decided to see if she was feeling ok. She certainly didn't seem to be.  
"Actually I came out here to talk," I lied.  
"About?"  
"How are you dealing lately?"  
"I'm ok." I went and stood next to her where she was leaning against a wooden platform, part of the assault course. Turning to look at her, I asked,  
"What about Werner?"  
"I'm ok. I think he was dead to me long ago." Matter of fact, unemotional.  
"Egypt?"  
"Before that. I think he always resented that I left him to get himself out of a sticky situation in Cambodia, but I was only a child. We had a few happy years working together, but it got worse as I overtook him, as he got older and I reached my prime, until he chased me across Egypt and left me to die." She sighed, regretful.  
"Revenge?" I asked, not understanding his motives.  
"No, I don't think so. Maybe his old age made him save himself as much as my youth did. Either way, I never listened to his guilty pleas for reconciliation, and that leaves me feeling guilty now that he's dead. But I'm ok." She looked at the floor, toeing the gravel.  
"And everything else?" At this she checked her composure and looked back to me, smiling.  
"Alright. I'm feeling better about things. The training's helping. Thanks for talking me back into it."  
"You're welcome." I smiled, nodded my head towards the house indicating that we should return, and put a lazy arm around her shoulders as we moved off.  
"How are things for you, Kurtis?" Lara asked a few moments later as we approached the house.  
Now there was a question.  
"Still hard, but I'll come to terms. Eventually. This is helping." I meant the visit, without which I wasn't sure where I'd be. Probably in a backstreet bar in Paris, my city of refuge for the past fifteen years, drinking too much Stella and picking a fight with whomever looked to be a good match. Bitter and angry.  
"I'm glad we can help," Lara said.


	11. Visit 11

**This chapter was previously posted as Chapter 10, before I realised that I had in fact missed out an entire bloody chapter. So, depending on how current this story is, you may need to skip back one and read the new, REAL, chapter 10. I apologise profusely, and will make up for it with Chapter 12, which is half done, and a very soon-to-come ending that none of you will have guessed. ;-)**

The drunken shenanigans of the previous night had apparently put Bryce in the partying mood, because he had insisted that we go clubbing the following night. I was up for that, though I was pretty adamant that I wasn't drinking.  
It's a little known secret that when guys are getting ready to go out and there are likely to be girls to impress, they spent just as long on their appearance as the aforementioned girls do, if not longer. In my case, aforementioned girl was Lara, and I spent no less than two hours getting ready, most of which was spent trying to decide what shirt to wear. In the end, I went for my favourite, one of five I owned that were all exactly the same (I _really_ liked them), one of which had been destroyed by Boaz in Prague. On the one hand, Lara might notice, and think that I was an idiot. On the other hand, it might just give the impression that I didn't care what she thought, making me seem cool and casual.  
Twenty minutes was spent on my hair, going for the tousled but sexy look, and then another three minutes were spent changing my pants because no matter how cool and casual it might make me look, Lara would definitely think that I was an idiot if I wore the same ones as in Prague.  
Lara, ever the superhero, managed to achieve aesthetic perfection in just forty five minutes, which possibly just made me look like an idiot.  
She presented herself at the top of the stairs and Bryce and I, apparently either with the same sense of humour or a bizarre telepathic link, both wolf whistled in jest before realising what the other had done and laughing at each other. Lara just looked long suffering and clattered down the rest of the steps.  
"Looking good, Bryce," Lara grinned, as we lounged in the back of her 4x4 on the way to the club, Hillary driving.  
"Ah, well, there're girls in clubs," he replied, slouched in the same clothes he'd been wearing the day before with his hair even messier than usual.  
Laughing at his own joke, he tried to kick Lara's shin playfully, but she pointed her stiletto heel at him and warned, "Heels!" I couldn't help but laugh to myself at the pair.  
"Go clubbing often?" I was asked and then, before I had a chance to answer, "Didn't that shirt get a huge hole in it courtesy of Boaz?" She'd noticed. Did I look an idiot?  
"Only when I'm going incognito to follow someone, and yes, it did, this is a different shirt."  
"You have two shirts the same?" she asked, obviously not knowing what to think. _DonotthinkI'manidiotDonotthinkI'manidiot.  
_"Actually, five," I admitted, hoping my outward demeanour was cool and casual. All I got were two odd looks so I countered, "What? I like this shirt, and in my line of work clothes don't last long." Lara just laughed good naturedly and lay down on the seat, her head propped in her hand.  
I let out a sigh of relief. I think I'd gotten away with it.  
  
The club was fun. Lots of fun, actually. The last time I'd been to one for a night out rather than to conduct surveillance, I'd still been in the Legion. I smiled to myself at that thought, remembering the guys from all over the world, most of whom had joined up because they didn't have a clue what else to do with their lives.  
Joining your own country's military suggested some sort of purpose, protecting your own, but these people had no purpose. They'd left school or college or barely started careers confused and directionless, and wandered off to France in search of adventure because there was nothing else going on. I'd been the same. In the Order, you were trained _for _the Order. No matter what you did in your life, be it got a normal job or started a family or whatever, you were always for the Order. Once I'd escaped that, I had no clue. My father had been pretty high ranking, one of the counsellors, and I'd finished school with no career plans because it was more or less set that I'd follow him, making my career the running of the Lux Veritatis. So, the Legion it was. Communication outside of the Legion was restricted for the first few months, the life was hard but rewarding, and it made good use of the combat skills I'd always shown a talent for. One of the few things in the Order I had found easy, actually.  
My train of thought was cut short as it became my turn at the bar, and the evening continued without further ponderings.  
It was at the end of the night that the trip stopped being fun and instead became bad. Really bad. We were hanging around waiting for Hillary to come and pick us up when three guys, looking to be mid twenties and way off of Lara's radar, started hassling her. She declined their offer of a lift home twice before one of them went to grab her arm.  
"Leave her alone," I ordered, fixing the guy with a hard look.  
It had no effect, he just brushed off my words. Lara stood up straight, staring them down and daring them to do something. I took that to be a sign that they weren't to be tolerated any longer, and pulled the one who had spoken round to me, landing a punch on his jaw.  
He staggered back, clutching his face as his longish blonde hair fell over his eyes, and his friends jumped me, one landing a blow to my still tender stomach which nearly floored me, and the other going for my arms to stop me from fighting back.  
Bryce chose the blonde still reeling from my punch and Lara pulled the one who had hit me away and kicked him to the ground as they intervened. Realising that it was three against three, the ginger haired kid that had been holding my arms took a couple of steps back, getting ready to face me.  
I took the offensive, landing an uppercut to his chin with my left and quickly following it with a blow to his stomach with my right. He staggered back as I knew he would, and I took advantage of the change in our relative positions to use my left elbow on the side of his face. He fell back against the wall, his legs bent out, giving me enough room to step forward and sweep his feet out from under him with my ankle. He fell, landing heavily, and I stopped my onslaught to give him a chance to bail. Ginger took it, tearing off down the street, yelling a retreat to his friends, who also surrendered, running into the darkness.  
"Everyone alright?" I gasped, clutching my painful middle. Lara glared at me, her eyes blazing, and I looked back her confused.  
"What?!"  
"You had to start a fight, didn't you? Couldn't just leave it alone!"  
"Well, I'm sorry if my concern was misplaced!" What was her problem? She'd made out she was just about to start one, all I did was take the opportunity to give us the upper hand by attacking from behind. I'd helped out a friend, I certainly hadn't done it to impress her, if that's what she thought. A woman like Lara didn't need knights.  
"It was!" she yelled in answer, and then, when I stayed quiet, said icily, "I appreciate the help, Kurtis, but you don't have to beat someone up when you can just as easily talk your way out of it. Just because you can fight doesn't mean you have to. What's wrong with the smart option?"  
The comment angered me and I stepped towards her, threatening. "And what's that?"  
"Talking, Kurtis. Draws less attention to yourself, allows you to concentrate your energies elsewhere. I'm amazed you've survived this long if you want to solve everything with violence."  
God, it was my father all over again. "I've survived this long because I don't let anyone mess me around."  
We glared at each other, breathing heavily from the exertion and practically begging the other to start something, but Hillary pulled up in the Land Cruiser. We piled in wordlessly, and Hillary, quickly picking up on the atmosphere, allowed the journey home to take place in angry silence.


	12. Visit 12

**Forward slashes denote words spoken by Kurtis' father, differentiating them from memories of his past actions. This chapter will make more sense if you can remember the final few events of 'Home'.**

I went to bed that night decided - I was leaving. There was no way I was going to stick around if that was how it was going to be. I'd begun to let myself think that maybe, just maybe, things could be different. Finally, I'd found somewhere with someone that I could settle down with for a while and live some semblance of a normal life, peppered with the adventure and travel that I craved. How wrong I had been.  
However, the next morning I awoke feeling completely different. Anger must have clouded my judgement the night before, because with the sun of the new day streaming through my drapes, I lay in bed with a far more optimistic attitude. Grinning to myself as I showered and dressed, I examined my feelings and found, thankfully, that I had forgiven Lara. I didn't know when or how, but I no longer begrudged her the fight with Eckhardt. And I wanted to stay.  
Just as I was passing Lara's door on my way down for breakfast, she came crashing out of it, not looking where she was going and moving with too much speed for pre-breakfast time. I just managed to hop out of her way, and she skidded to a halt, smiling sheepishly.  
"Sorry," she said, looking as if she expected me to blow up at her.  
I just began walking again, touching her wrist lightly as I passed her, saying, "Be careful, huh?" My air felt easy, comfortable. I wasn't a guest any longer.  
The warning was apparently unheeded, as Lara then sprinted down the stairs, causing me to flatten myself against the wall in fear of being bowled down with her.  
"See you at breakfast," she called, speeding across the hallway and into the kitchen.  
I didn't see her at breakfast. By the time I had made it to breakfast, half a staircase and one hallway later, she was rushing out, again nearly knocking me over. I stood for a second, staring after her, trying to register just had happened, she'd left that quickly.  
"What's the rush?" I yelled, following it with a muttered, "Gees," and sloping through the kitchen doorway, flopping into a chair and reaching for some toast.  
"What's got Lara so psyched?" I asked Hillary through a mouthful of toast.  
He set a small pot of jelly down in front of me and glanced me as he did, replying, "She's swimming her water course today. Underwater maze. Helps her to stay calm and hold her breath."  
I frowned slightly as I grabbed the butter knife and used it to slather the jelly on my toast. Something didn't sit right. Hillary's sentence had set off an alarm bell and I had no idea why.  
I continued to ponder the feeling as Hillary laid out a tray of toast, jelly, tea, and English breakfast. Finishing, he said, "I'll just take Bryce his breakfast, he's running the course for Lara." I nodded acknowledgement, and he left.  
Shifting slightly in my seat, chewing on my toast and helping myself to some egg and bacon from the serving dish, I shrugged as I decided to cast the thought out of my head. It'd come to me later.  
Later was not that far away as, after only seconds, I heard a shout from Hillary and the unmistakable clash of the breakfast tray dropping to the floor, forgotten in shock. At the crash, the floodgates opened, and a tidal wave of images and sounds rushed into my mind. Sentences spoken by my father in cruel training sessions came flooding back, unbidden, punctuated by flashes of memories of alcoholically induced utter STUPIDITY from just three nights previous.  
  
_/"Strength, Kurtis. That's why I treat you like this. You need to learn to be strong."/_

_"Bryce? Are you out for the count already? Sissy. Fine, you sleep, I'm going exploring." Me staggering off, leaving Bryce half conscious._

_/"You're still alive aren't you? You survived."/_

_"Wow, this is something." The discovery of Lara's underwater maze course and the complex computers that controlled them._

_/"Cruel to be kind, Kurtis."/_

_"I think it might have been just the right kind of surprise, Hilly." Lara's words that showed that the harsh approach had worked with her._

_/"You won't survive by being molly coddled."/_

_"You'll be ok, Lara. After this, you'll be able to tackle anything." Me, smiling, actually proud of what I was doing, as I wrote subroutines and commands into the computers._

_/"The training is tough because I want you to survive!"/_

I knew exactly what was going on. Lara was trapped in the maze. And she was drowning.

**Got me pegged and know exactly where I'm headed? Have an idea but can't quite believe I'd do that? Utterly confused with no clue? All loose ends will be tied up in the next and final chapter, which is sitting complete on my laptop. I just think I'll torture you for a while by not posting yet. ;-)**


	13. Visit 13

**Ok, ok, no more poking, I give in, here it is! The end. I would just like to take this opportunity to thank all have reviewed. You brighten up my e-mail account, and if nothing else, the pokey sticks are good for toasting marshmallows. ;-) Italics are the depths of Kurtis' mind, as ever. Here we are then...**

Tearing into the swimming pool conservatory, I was met with panic and disarray.  
Breakfast tray scattered on the floor.  
Hillary frozen to the spot, staring with hysteria in his eyes at the chillingly still water in the pool, leading off from which were the tunnels that were cruelly suffocating Lara.  
Bryce practically hyperventilating as his hands flew over the keyboard at the control computer, eyes wild but focused on the monitor, as he tried to drain the maze.  
Me. Eyes wide. Mouth open. Panting from exertion and shock.  
_"Lara!"  
I dove in and sped through the water into the maze, eyes darting for her panicking oxygen starved form. She was there, arms flailing, legs kicking, eyes wide in fear.  
I reached out and grabbed her wrist; her wild eyes locked onto me, a flicker of relief in them. Dragging her back out behind me, we surfaced, both gasping for air, gulping in desperate lungfuls. I was still clasping tightly to her wrist, her free arm beating the water as she fought to keep above the surface in her instinctive state of flight.  
"Lara," I gasped, turning to her, still gulping in air and trying to calm myself.  
_Except I didn't. I just stood. Doing nothing.  
"YES!," Bryce screamed. He'd succeeded.  
The computer wielded, and the maze drained, filling with healing and soothing air, and the roof of the maze opened up, revealing Lara lying in a heap, spasms of coughs racking her soaked, abused frame as she expelled water from her lungs and fought to keep from throwing up.  
Hillary and Bryce flew over to her, her butler and almost adopted father pulling her into his lap and stroking her back as she wretched, Bryce taking her head in his hands and touching her forehead with his in relief as he was assured that she was conscious and alive.  
I ran a few steps with them, but at a slower pace, stopping feet from her, as concern for her well-being was quickly replaced with horror and shame at what I had done. Hillary glared at me, apparently incensed that I wasn't showing the same degree of concern. It wasn't right that I be there. I turned and walked slowly away.  
Reaching my room, I locked the door behind me and crossed to the bed with heavy steps. I flopped down and put my head in my hands, not able to believe what I had done.  
The virus that Bryce had cleared from the house's computer network had concealed a second tampering. One that had caused the maze to close off at both ends and had disabled the panic buttons inside that should have drained it in an emergency. He'd never seen it because any traces of it had been put down to the virus. And its effects? Probably blamed on the original virus too.  
A second malicious program. And I had planted it. I had written it, planted it, and completely forgotten all about it, drunk. My gaze fell on the half empty bottle of vodka that Bryce and I had been working through that night. Crossing to the table where it sat before I had even realised that I was moving, I screamed in rage and hurled the bottle at the wall, where it smashed, the pieces falling to the floor and the contents sliding down the wall like colourless blood.  
Snatching up one of the larger shards, I stormed to the window, throwing it open. The glass blade was held at my wrist as I screamed into the wind.  
"FUCK YOU! It's all your fault! This is what you made me! This! Some screwed up human being who tries to kill his friends and pretends he's helping them! I'll see you IN HELL!!"  
I raised the glass gash an inch, ready to bring it down on my veins, but couldn't. I screamed in frustration and threw it to the floor, spinning round and reducing my hand's sentence to an almost knuckle breaking blow to the four poster bed. Dropping to my knees, my anger spent, I bowed my head and cried.  
  
Three hours later I was packing when someone knocked at my door. I stopped and stared at it, waiting for I knew not what. They tried the handle, but the door was locked, and I continued to stare, not moving, as soft disappointed footsteps faded away. I stayed that way, frozen as if the slightest movement would give me away, for almost two minutes after the sound had gone, before looking back to my suitcase.  
  
My case packed and ready to go, it stood on the floor behind me patiently waiting for the inevitable as I sat at the desk by the window, penning a careful letter to Lara on her complimentary stationary with her complimentary pen. None of these things were mine anymore. It was time to go.  
  
_Dear Lara,  
I'm sorry I couldn't say goodbye, but that's not how I do things. That's not how I leave. I move, and I don't look back. Sometimes I think it's easier for all involved, sometimes I think I'm just a coward.  
What happened this morning made me realise that I can't live the life you want me to. I used to know that, but these past couple of months, I got confused. It's not who I am, and it's not the life I lead.  
I can't be with you, Lara, or anyone. If I get close to people, they get hurt. Friends and family get caught in the crossfire of the life I live, and people who share that lifestyle with me - people like you - come with their own danger that I can't handle.  
I'm not prepared to deal with the pain that comes with loved ones getting hurt.  
Again, I'm sorry.  
Maybe our paths will cross in the future, but when and if they do, I hope enough time will have passed for me to have become numb enough to be able to work with you again. Goodbye,  
Kurtis  
_  
I read over the farewell one last time and folded it, slowly, carefully, considering my words. _Sometimes I think it's easier for all involved, sometimes I think I'm just a coward_. Yeah, that was about right. Why hadn't I told her that it was my fault? Because I was sparing her pain, or because I was too scared?  
I laughed bitterly as I slowly, regretfully, stood. The letter was placed properly on the desk, in a manner befitting a grand and wonderful house owned by a grand and wonderful Lady. A wonderful lady.  
Leaving the house silently and under the cover of dusk, I crunched over the gravel in the rapidly gathering night, the cold English evening falling felt but not unwanted against my pants and jacket gathered protectively around me. My suitcase rolled behind me as it had always done, following obediently to wherever we would end up next. Exiting Croft's lands, I turned down the country road the way we had come in the Bentley, and trudged on.  
  
**What? What?! Don't look at me like that! Maybe I'll set things right in Part 3. Maybe. I'll see how I feel. ;-)**


End file.
